


100 Ways to Say "I Love You"

by meverri



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Coming of Age, M/M, Post-Sburb, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 22,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6547498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meverri/pseuds/meverri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The timeless romance of John Egbert and Dave Strider, told through one hundred 1,000-word snippets.</p><p>Based on this (http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you) which I have been saving for years to write a johndave fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sorry I'm Late

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate the end of Homestuck, have my first and probably last attempt at a real live johndave fic. Get it while it's hot.

Your name is Dave Strider, and it's fourteen minutes past six.

Your best friend, John Egbert, promised he would message you at four on the dot, which, for you, is six pm. It has been half an hour since you sat down and logged on and about thirteen minutes since you started bouncing up and down in your seat, wondering where the fuck he could possibly be. 

Every time he’s late, you get a bit nervous. It’s been almost four years since That Day, the one where everything went to shit and the world was flipped on its head and then destroyed by giant fucking space rocks. Ever since That Day, all four of you- you, John, and your other best friends, Jade Harley and Rose Lalonde- have been closer than ever. Unfortunately, you still see dead bodies every time you close your eyes, most of them belonging to you.

You guess it’s only natural that you get a little freaked out when your friends are a little slow to pick up their phones and text you back, or when they don’t return your messages on PesterChum. After all, the last time you lost contact with them, you didn’t talk to John or Jade again for three years, and Rose was too busy macking on her lesbian space vampire of a girlfriend to hang with you.

So, whatever, it isn’t the end of the world to start pacing a bit. Even with all your Strider training, it’s hard to keep your heart from beating out of your chest when the others are silent. 

At that moment, your computer _ding_ s. You definitely don’t let out a sigh of relief- that wouldn’t be nearly cool enough for a Strider- as you collapse into your chair and let your eyes devour the blue text against the white background.

EB: hi dave! EB: sorry i’m late.  
EB: my dad was late picking me up from school.  


You can’t help but let the corner of your mouth twitch up a bit. It’s been a week since you had more than ten minutes to talk to John, and suddenly it’s ten times easier to breathe.  


TG: its fine man  
TG: cant blame dadbert for his mysterious and unpunctual ways  
EB: is unpunctual a word?  
TG: who knows man all im saying is your dad is one weird guy  
TG: and hes gonna do what hes gonna do

You can almost picture John giggling at his computer and typing out his weird responses. The thought makes you want to laugh. Even though you haven’t seen John in person since you beat Sburb and got to return to your home planet (minus a bit of sleep and mental stability), you remember his laugh perfectly. It’s weird and squeaky, like he’s gasping for air, and he always scrunches his nose in this weird way he has, like something smells bad, and-

You pull yourself out of your thoughts at the next _ding_.

EB: yeah he can’t be tamed!  
EB: many have tried  
EB: but none have ever succeeded at capturing the elusive dad.  
EB: it simply cannot be done.  
TG: yeah yeah hes weird and super strong and kind of badass  
TG: i get it  
TG: we all get it  
TG: we all swoon at the sight of him  
TG: all we damsels in distress just waiting to be saved by mr egbert so we can wrap our arms around him and call him our hero  
TG: please take this as a token of my gratitude mr egbert  
TG: oh thank you son but it was no trouble  
TG: youre my hero  
TG: it was nothing young lass how about i make you some cake  
TG: never accept cake from a stranger john  
TG: stranger danger  
EB: you’re so weird, gah!  


Okay, so maybe you did get on a weird tangent there. Still, John gets the idea. Probably.  


EB: have you heard anything from the trolls lately?  
TG: just the usual  
TG: our planet is burning and we’re ripping society apart brick by brick while still stalking you guys  
TG: have you  
EB: yeah, vriska and karkat still bother me a lot.  
EB: jade says karkat misses us a bunch but he just doesn’t want to show it.  
TG: sounds like our old pal karkat to me

The trolls, aka the banes of your existence, met you during Sburb. You'll never see them again since the space between your universes has been destroyed. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, they can still pester you, something they seem to do really, really often. You guess it must be weird for them on their planet, where they all live so far apart. Even though you don’t live anywhere near your friends, they’re always willing to talk. From what you’ve heard, their group has fractured after all the terrible things that happened in their session. You don’t know all the details, but you’ve figured out enough by the way Karkat condemns anyone who hasn’t forgiven his moirail, Gamzee, for the shit he did while he was possessed. You, frankly, don’t give a shit.

EB: i hope they’re all okay.  
TG: dude im sure theyre fine  
TG: karkats probably just busy watching romcoms and yelling  
EB: yeah, i’m sure you’re right.  
EB: so have you seen the new iron man movie?

Your conversation continues like that for a few hours. John, as always, nerds out over every new movie or funny trailer he’s seen. You tease him and remember when you used to make plans to meet up, back before the Game and all the hell that came with it.

It isn’t long before John signs off, pleading some “humongous essay” due the next day, and like that, the world is silent again. You stare at the screen for a while and remember John’s eyes, bright blue and piercing. Video chat doesn’t do it justice, you think. John’s too difficult to put on a computer. You only hope you can see him again soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So essentially, there are 100 chapters, and each is exactly 1,000 words long. I'll update every Wednesday until after exams, at which point I'll probably make it two or three updates a week. I'd really appreciate it if someone actually read this and/or gave me some advice. A lot of this is dialogue practice b/c I suck at dialogue. Also brevity. Hence the 1,000 word limit.


	2. Thought You Might Like It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com, if anyone is interested in following me. Ya know. For shits and giggles.

Your name is John Egbert, and you are so sick of school.

It’s only December, but you’re already overwhelmed with homework. Worse, it’s Dave’s birthday, and you haven’t been able to talk to him for more than five minutes since last Monday. Your best friend is turning seventeen, and all you’ve done so far is ask Sollux how to hack into his computer so it’ll play Dancing Queen on repeat after school. You are the worst best friend ever; it is you.

Jade, for her part, won’t stop texting you about the “totally rad” gift she got for him- some sort of weird dead jungle bird she found for his collection. You try not to be grumpy, but you know he’ll love it.

You think he’ll like your gift, too, but you aren’t entirely sure, so you’re on edge all day. Now that you think about it, it’s silly, but it’s too late- you sent it off a few days ago so it’d reach his house on time.

All day, you can’t help glancing down at your phone to see if Dave has texted you. He hasn’t, but a couple bored assholes won’t stop.

[FROM JADE]: hey doofus! answer meeeee  
[FROM JADE]: bec wont let me out of the house  
[FROM JADE]: im so bored!!!  
[FROM KARKAT]: JOHN ANSWER JADE SHE’S BOTHERING ME

You sigh. If you let Jade keep bugging Karkat, he’ll keep bugging you. On the other hand, you really don’t want to talk to Jade right now, either. You’re in school- they should know not to bother you! You close the notifications and reach down to put your phone in your backpack.

Just then, your phone vibrates again. You check it, quickly, and this time you grin.

[FROM DAVE]: so how do i make these swedish assholes shut up

Your grin gets even wider, if that’s somehow possible. You love pranking Dave. It is quite possibly the most fun thing in the world, besides messing with Karkat.

[TO DAVE]: you can’t! they will never stop singing.  
[TO DAVE]: do you feel like the dancing queen yet?  
[FROM DAVE]: yeah yeah im young and sweet and whatever  
[FROM DAVE]: look john i know my moves are too hot for your poor egbertian heart but you gotta find some way to keep it in your pants  
[TO DAVE]: you wish!

After that, you actually do start paying attention to whatever your math teacher is saying. Still, when you get home, the first thing you do is open Skype and call Dave. After about ten seconds of ringing, his face- shades and all- fills the screen.

“’Sup,” he says, sounding like a total douche.

You laugh. “Hey dude. Did you get my gift?”

Dave nods and holds up the blue-wrapped box. “Figured I’d open it with you here. Thought you might like it if I waited for you.”

You nod, but then give him a mock stern look. “You know the rule, Dave.”

He gives an overly dramatic sigh. “You wound me, Egbert.”

“Take them off.”

He sighs again, even more dramatically, and removes his shades. You smile as he blinks in the light, and if you squint, you can almost see the freckles dusting his cheeks through the pixilated picture.

The rule comes from in the Game, when you first saw him without his shades. He had just been fighting one of the many monsters in the Game when he hit his head on a rock and passed out. You managed to whisk him away without hurting him more, and when you went to clean his bleeding face, you removed his shades. It was the first time you had ever seen his full face, and you were struck by its beauty. You were surprised by his long, golden eyelashes and the tiny freckles that his shades had always covered.

When he woke up, you saw his eyes, and that was it for you. They were red, with flecks of gold. They burned like dying embers, and all you wanted to do was lean down and kiss him.

Of course, you resisted that urge, because at the time, you were too freaked out by the fact that he was a guy. Later, when you realized he and Karkat had been together, you felt like you had missed an opportunity. Even now, you wonder what might have happened if you’d taken that chance.

So every time it’s just the two of you, you make him take his shakes off. It’s fun to torture him, and he always grumbles but you know he’s okay with it.

“Open your present, dummy!” you exclaim, just a bit too loudly. He rolls his eyes and peels the shiny blue paper away. You sit on your hands to stop them from shaking as he lifts the blue, soft fabric out of the box.

“John,” he says quietly, and you wonder if he’s saying it to you or to himself.

“I just thought it might be nice,” you say quickly. “It’s the one my dad got me. It’s too big, and I wore it a bit so it might smell weird, but you said you needed to get a hoodie, and I didn’t want it to go to waste. Plus, you don’t have a lot of blue, so I thought maybe-”

“John,” he says, this time more insistent. “It’s awesome.” He gives you this look, like he’s considering how much emotion he can show without looking like a dipshit (which, as he’s told you, is “not much”) before he smiles. He really, truly smiles, with the corners of his eyes getting all wrinkly and everything. You’ve only seen him do that a couple times, and never without shades on. 

“Okay,” you say, smiling too, because god damn it he’s just so happy! You did it!

“Thanks,” he says, and your heart sorta expands, like you’re the Grinch and it’s growing three sizes, because he looks really, really happy, and you’re the one who made him that way.


	3. I'll Help You Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can contact me on tumblr at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com.

You are Dave Strider, and you will not be having a white Christmas.

December crawls by, and you watch the Texas skies for signs of snow, but none comes. Rose complains to you about the snow up north (“Really, Dave, it’s only frozen water. It’s cold. We’re buried.”) but you can’t help wanting to be with John, who’s sent you about four trillion pictures of himself in the knee-deep snow. His hair sticks up at odd angles and shimmers from beneath his hat. In one picture, he catches snowflakes on his tongue. In another, he and his dad are sledding down a huge hill by his house. He even sends you some pictures from a three-day ski trip with his school’s ski club. His glasses are covered in condensation, and his cheeks are bright pink.

His flushed cheeks always make your stomach do weird flips. You ignore this in favor of calling him a loser. He doesn’t seem to mind.

Christmas comes and goes pretty uneventfully. You’ve never really celebrated with Bro, and your only tradition is the December 26th Skype call with John, Rose, and Jade. You all compare gifts (“Jade, where did you even _find_ industrial power cells?” “Says the one who got a book about summoning demons!”) and wish each other a wonderful holiday.

The rest of break is spent playing shitty video games with your Bro and pigging out on Doritos. You take some pictures from the roof and develop them, but none come out quite right. The sky stays gray and you spend entirely too much time wearing John’s sweatshirt. It’s faint now, but when you concentrate you can smell him- minty and a little sweaty and entirely John.

New Year’s Eve comes along too quickly, and before you know it, you’re trying to make sense of the chemistry homework that you’ve put off all break. You aren’t terribly interested in school- after risking your life, it’s not exactly the most exciting thing in the world- but you try to do well enough. You just want to go to college with your friends, and like it or not, Rose and John are miles ahead of you. Jade, of course, is a super genius, but it’s not like she’s ever been to school. You aren’t really sure what she’ll do- John has offered to let her live with him a couple times, but she claims she could never leave the island. At the same time, she talks about working for NASA and going into space, which, honestly, seems like the perfect job for her. She’s enrolled in some homeschooling thing that lets her take high school classes online, but you don’t know if she’ll end up going to college or just live the rest of her life adventuring. 

You think about the future a lot now. Somehow, it still manages to freak you out, even though you still have a weird understanding of time that helps you accept that no matter what you do, some version of you somewhere is doing something cooler. At the same time, another version is dead, so you’re probably doing pretty well. 

When your phone starts buzzing, it’s five minutes to midnight. You give up on gas laws- honestly, _fuck_ PV=nRT- and scoop it up, unlocking your phone as you see who’s calling.

“Happy New Year!” John yells.

“Dude, we still have five minutes,” you point out.

“Yeah, but I have to watch Ghostbusters with my dad, and we’re starting the movie soon so we can finish it before midnight.”

“The dweebfest never ends,” you mutter, wishing you were with them.

“No one is more dweebish than you, dweeb,” he says, laughing.

“Wow, John. That hurt. That cut me deep. I’m wounded.”

He chuckles again, then pauses. “Whatcha up to?” he asks.

“Having a wild party. Drinking off some naked chick’s back. Doing coke with hookers. You know, the usual.”

He snorts. “What are you doing, _really_?”

“Chemistry. I have a test the day we get back and no clue what I’m doing.”

“I’ll help you study,” John offers.

You glance at your computer. 11:58. You shake your head, then remember he can’t see you. “Nah, dude. Go watch Ghostbusters. I’m not gonna keep you away from that sweet Bill Murray ass.”

He laughs again, and you wonder how it’s possible to laugh as much as he does, but you’re glad he does. “Gross, man. Gross. You know Sigourney Weaver’s where it’s at.”

“Don’t say ‘where it’s at,’ John. You know you can’t pull it off.”

“I’m sticking my tongue out at you,” he says. “Feel my wrath. Suffer.”

You allow yourself to smirk. “Sorry. Gotta tell the truth.” You glance at the computer again. “Okay, it’s midnight.”

“Happy New Year!” John screams, loudly enough that you have to hold your phone away from your ear for a second. You’re pretty sure he’s got a kazoo or something, because the noises coming through the phone can’t be human.

“Jesus, dude. Watch the eardrums,” you say, bringing it back to your ear.

“Did you make a New Year’s resolution?” he asks.

“I resolve to kick your ass the next time I see it in person.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “God, you’re such a loser.”

John chuckles. “You’re more of a loser than I am, loser. You know you can’t beat John Egbert at being a nerd, though. He is simply-”

“If you finish that sentence I swear-”

“-the best there is!”

You facepalm internally. “I resolve to kick your ass a second time.”

“Yeah, okay, Dave. I’m soooo scared.” He pauses, and you hear his dad’s faint voice through the phone. “Sorry, I gotta go,” John says.

“It’s fine man. Have fun.”

“I will,” he says brightly. “Time to go kick some ghostly butt!”

With that, he hangs up, and you’re left staring at your feet and wondering how you could possibly be so lucky as to have John Egbert in your life.


	4. Go Back to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some descriptions of blood and reeeally mild body horror in this one, so read with caution. Keep yourselves safe!
> 
> As always, you can contact me on tumblr at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com.

Your name is John Egbert, and holy shit Dave is dying.

You aren’t really sure how you got here, or how this happened, but somehow his blood is all over your hands and oh, god, there’s a lot of it. It’s seeping through his red shirt and pooling beneath him, and you aren’t really sure where it’s coming from but he’s just screaming and screaming and screaming and-

His hands grip at your cold arm and clutch it, tight, and you stare into his eyes. He’s choking on his own blood, coughing against it as it streams down the sides of his face and drips from the rivulets down to the ground. He blinks, and his eyes begin to water. You watch as the color drains from them, the red of his irises dissolving in his tears and dripping down alongside the blood until they’re white and you know he’s gone and oh, god, Dave can’t be dead, right? He can’t, so you grab at his shoulders and shake him and scream his name over and over and no, please, you need him, he can’t be dead, so you keep calling out to him, calling out “Dave! Dave! Wake up, Dave!” 

Except he isn’t moving, he isn’t _moving_ -

“Dave!” you scream as you bolt upright. 

The moonlight shining through your window is just enough to make out the details of your bedroom, comforting and familiar. You let out a deep breath as your heart begins to slow to a normal pace. There are tears on your face, you realize, so you wipe them away with the back of your hand, shivering slightly.

God damn it.

These nightmares have become less common, but you still have so many dreams about Sburb. You have watched your friends die hundreds of times, but even though you know it isn’t real, you’re always desperate to convince yourself they’re still alive.

You listen intently for Dad’s footsteps. He’s a heavy sleeper, and he rarely wakes up when you have nightmares, which is good because how could you explain them to him? He doesn’t remember the Game, which is something you are very thankful for, because you don’t think you could handle him knowing.

You reach for your phone. You have to call Dave. At least if it goes to voicemail, you can hear his voice.

You dial Dave’s number- you’ve memorized it after a thousand bad dreams- and let it ring. On the third ring, you hear his groggy voice, deep and quiet and comforting.

“John?” 

You don’t realize you’re still crying until a sob escapes you. “Dave,” you whisper, relieved.

He groans slightly, and you can imagine him sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Nightmare?” he asks, half-whispering.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, John,” he says. “Happens to all of us. Do you want me to stay?”

You take another deep breath. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, please.”

“You’re safe,” he says, and even though he isn’t here, his voice is comforting and warm and unmistakably _Dave_. “You can lay down. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

You lay down and close your eyes, trying to will away the image of his cold, white eyes and blood-soaked chest. You focus on the soft, soft static that wraps around his voice; the bits of white noise between the gaps in his words are oddly soothing.

“I had a dream, too,” he whispers, starting to sound a bit more normal, “except it was weird. I mean, we were with Jade and Rose, right? On Jade’s island. It was the middle of the night and Bec wouldn’t stop barking, so Jade grabbed his collar and climbed on his back and she started to look like fucking Princess Mononoke or some shit. I don’t know. It was weird. So we headed into the jungle…”

As his voice drones on, you feel sleep beckoning to you. You try to hang on to Dave’s voice, soothing and clear, but the world starts to fade.

“… and then Rose was gone, so we had to find her, but you and I were still riding those goddamn horses and they didn’t give a shit where we wanted to go, and I’m pretty sure one of them sounded like Karkat because he would not shut the fuck up, honestly-”

“Dave?” you whisper, holding back a yawn.

He pauses for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He pauses again, longer, and you picture him running a hand through his sweaty blonde hair, leaving it sticking up in a million different directions, and you remember all the times that you’ve called him in the middle of the night and all the times he’s answered. You remember all the reassuring words and rambling, all the promises that yes, he’s alive, he’ll be a phone call away in the morning, and your heart just explodes a little. Like, yeah, he may be a pain in the ass ninety-nine percent of the time (which you know is just an act anyway- he’s not exactly subtle), but you know he’ll be there tomorrow while you eat your frosted flakes and text him about pointless shit. You know he’ll be there after school while you do your homework, and you know he’ll be there the next time your mind decides to fuck with you, and that’s the most comforting thought in the world.

“Go back to sleep,” he says quietly.

“I will,” you say. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“Never,” he says. “You know Striders don’t need sleep. We run off of pure swag.”

“Only dorks say ‘swag’,” you whisper, holding back a giggle.

“Only dweebs call people ‘dorks’.”

“Only nerds call people ‘dweebs’.”

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, and you let out a triumphant “Ha!” before he says “You should go back to bed, though. I’m serious.”

“Yeah, okay, _mom_ ,” you whisper. “Good night.”

As you drift off to sleep he says something and you hear his voice as though from far away. Try as you might, though, you just can’t make out the words.


	5. Call Me If You Need Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com if you have comments, questions, or concerns!

Your name is Dave Strider, and as your English teacher, Mrs. Davis, goes on and on about literary devices, you stare out the window and wait for summer.

It’s already warm here. John has been complaining about all the rain and snow where he lives, but you’ve been walking home from school every day since the middle of February. Staring out at the sun, you lay your head on your cool desk. You’ve barely had any sleep the last couple weeks with all of the studying and comforting your friends. As April gets closer, the nightmares always come more frequently, especially for John. Jade and Rose don’t call you as much, but on the nights that you aren’t waking up drenched in sweat with your throat hoarse from screaming, John is almost always calling you.

So the dark circles under your eyes are a bit annoying. So what? They're your friends. John is your best friend. You’ll be there for him no matter what.

You can’t bring yourself to call him, somehow. No matter how bad the nightmares get, you suffer them alone.

Rose seems to think it’s some weird reflection on your inability to relate to and depend upon others. Last night, you talked with her for a while. She always gets more obsessive and weird around April. You actually indulged her and let her psychoanalyze you for a bit, though you pretended to be annoyed.

TT: You claim to have no need for him, but I can hardly believe that.  
TG: maybe i just dont have nightmares huh  
TG: ever consider that dr freud  
TT: Knowing you, and knowing the unique trauma you experienced, I highly doubt it.  
TG: what unique trauma  
TG: im just as fucked up as the rest of you  
TT: You’ve had to watch yourself die repeatedly.  
TT: Not to mention all of the times you’ve had to dispose of your own corpse.  
TT: That seems fairly traumatic to me.  
TG: yeah well youre wrong  
TG: no trauma here  
TG: my brain is completely normal  
TG: im cool as a cucumber  
TG: im a free independent woman who dont need no man  
TT: Slight racism aside, I know for a fact you suffer from nightmares.  
TG: prove it  
TT: You do remember what occurred in Davesprite’s timeline, do you not?  
TG: yeah  
TG: i remember all my timelines  
TG: fuckin knight of time over here  
TG: having a grand old time  
TT: Well, I happen to have conversed with Davesprite many times before the end of the Game.  
TT: He confided in me.  
TT: I helped him work through several of his reoccurring nightmares, which I’m sure you remember.  
TG: ok but I dont need help  
TG: so just  
TG: go bother somebody else  
TT: Of course, Dave.  
TT: I’d be happy to “bother somebody else.”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t all pretend. Whatever. Rose has this weird habit of getting under your skin, and you’re not just going to sit by and let that happen.

Still, as you finally escape class that afternoon, you can’t help but wonder if she had a point. Maybe you should talk to someone about those dreams. 

In most of them, it’s John or your Bro who lies dead in front of you. Sometimes, it’s you. Occasionally, it’s Jade.

Every time you dream their deaths, they’re long gone, and you’re left wondering how you could have saved them. You know the finality of death- even with time powers, there’s not much you can do unless you’ve already done it, in which case they won’t die, so you don’t have to worry about it.

Ah, time shenanigans. It’s been a while.

As you stroll home through the crowded city streets, you decide to pester John. 

TG: sup

Even though he should be in class, it takes him only moments to respond, as though he’s been waiting all day.

EB: dave!  
EB: i have awesome news!  
TG: what  
TG: did you meet nic cage  
TG: did you touch his sweaty hair and call him daddy  
EB: what the fuck, dude.  
EB: i bet his hair is perfectly clean and soft!  
EB: but no…  
TG: then what could the great john egbert have to say to a lowly strider  
EB: …  
EB: ………  
TG: these dots are suspicious  
TG: what did you do  
EB: i’m getting a cat!!!  
TG: what  
EB: we found a kitten in our garage and dad said i could keep her!  


You snort. Of course his big news is a fucking kitten. What an adorable douchebag.  


TG: please tell me you didnt name her dr meowgon spengler  
EB: of course not!  
EB: that would disrespect the real dr. meowgon spengler.  
EB: (rip)  
TG: so whats her name then  
EB: …  
EB: you’re gonna judge me.  
TG: john  
TG: im always gonna judge you

There’s a pause, and you roll your eyes, then type out a message that appears in the same instant as John’s.

TG: as long as its not a fucking pun  
EB: meowgana le fay  


You slam your head into your desk so hard it hurts.  


TG: what the fuck dude  
TG: like from the sorcerers apprentice?  
TG: i thought you hated that movie  
EB: i liked morgana!  
EB: stop judging.  
TG: never

You honestly cannot believe this kid. 

EB: whatever dude!  
EB: meowgana is very happy with her new name.  
TG: well jesus egbert if shes happy then im happy  
TG: as long as you treat her right  
TG: and love her like i have  
TG: all these years  
TG: protect her from ruffians  
EB: ugh, okay, whatever.

There’s another pause, and when you look up, there’s another message that makes you roll your eyes and smile.

EB: also, um…  
EB: rose said you were maybe having nightmares again?  
EB: and i just wanted to say  
EB: you can call me if you need anything!  


You sigh. Fucking Rose and her psychobabble. Even if this is really sweet.  


TG: sure thing egbert  
TG: any time


	6. Happy Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can contact me at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com

You are John Egbert, and, as with every April 13th for the past three years, you wake up on your birthday with your heart pounding.

You run a hand through your sweat-damp hair and feel it stick up. The world seems pretty much intact, and the sun is just rising through your window, but it looked normal that day, too, when the fire came down and everything was awful.

You grab your phone from beside your bed and check the time. 6:00. Great. Dave and Rose will already be at school, and Jade- well, you never quite know where she is.

You’ve got two voicemails already, though, so as you try to breathe, you open the first.

“Hello, John,” Rose says. “I’d like to wish you a happy- well, you know.” A pause. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but if you would like, I have chosen to remain home today, as my- well, my ‘unpleasant’ memories have chosen to resurface, as one might expect. Still, I am more than willing to lend an ear or some advice to you. After all, you _are_ turning seventeen today, and you have another wonderful year here on Earth to celebrate.” She pauses again, then takes a deep, static-y breath. “We all care about you very much, John, and I’d hate to see you suffering on such a lovely morning.”

With that, her voice cuts out. You smile sadly and remember how quiet you were in the year after the Game- how, when you hid it from everyone, Rose pried all the broken pieces out of you and helped you remember how to be a person again.

The next is from Dave. As you press your phone to your ear again, you close your eyes and hug your knees against your chest.

It starts off with silence, as most voicemails from Dave do. After a moment, he begins to speak, and his voice is deep in the way it only gets in the morning. You do your best not to blush, but that’s always been a losing battle with you.

“Uh, hi, John. So, I mean, happy birthday, first off. I know you don’t like it but, like, one bad thing happening on one birthday shouldn’t ruin every birthday forever, right? I mean, shit, there’s this chick in my math class- tall, brunette, bossy, kind of an asshole- and she got diagnosed with some chronic fucking illness on her dad’s birthday, but he still manages to celebrate every year, right? I mean, we were total badasses that day. We fucking kicked ass, man. We tore through all those imp assholes and managed to survive for three years in the middle of nothingness and yeah, okay, I know you aren’t a fan of all the shit that happened next but we were fucking superheroes. We even got the stupid capes and shit like fucking Superman and shit. You’re Clark Kent. You even have the weird glasses and like, okay, we all _pretend_ we don’t know who you are but shit man we can all tell it’s Superman because honestly, we’d have to be idiots not to. And I guess that makes me Batman because let’s be real, I’m definitely Batman. I even have the angsty no parents thing. Well, okay, I guess we all do, but whatever. I’m Batman. I live in a city. I win. And then when you come in to save the day with all your godly powers I’m like, ‘Shit, man, I just have pointy boomerangs. I’m lame as fuck.’ Maybe I should be Spiderman. Do you think I could pull off-”

The ramble ends as suddenly as it begins, and now you’re actually smiling. He may be a complete loser, but he knows how to make you feel less shitty.

Unlike Rose, you can’t just miss a day of school, so instead you get up and shuffle into the bathroom for a quick shower. After getting dressed, you drag yourself downstairs and plop onto the couch. Waiting for you is a giant stack of pancakes, served fresh by your dad and covered in whipped cream.

You can only finish about three before your stomach starts to make weird noises and you decide to give up on this venture. After all, you don’t wanna puke on your birthday.

You’re quiet as always, even when your father pulls you in for a Dad-ly embrace and tells you how proud he is to call you his son. If you were younger, you’d pull away in embarrassment, but now you cherish every moment you spend with him. After three years without seeing him once and thinking you’d never see him again, you aren’t going to pass on a hug.

The bus is too loud, and even as you sit there and listen to one of Dave’s old mixes, you can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by the fact that you saved this world. You don’t really understand how it worked, but somehow you came home, and as the kids around you chat about the upcoming school day, you have to feel a little proud.

You get three birthday texts on the way there (“ HAPPY WRIGGLING DAY, SHITDICK. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD. THE REAL WORLD IN WHICH I HATE YOU, EVEN THOUGH SOMETIMES YOU’RE KIND OF OKAY, I GUESS.” “Just w8 until you see my gift for you ;:::)” “Rose Has Informed Me That It Is Your Human Birth Date. Congratulations On Reaching Seventeen Years Of Age. I Am Led To Believe That This Is An Accomplishment. Is This True?”). You grin as you read them. It’s nice to know that somewhere out there, the trolls still remember you. It’s a reminder that everything you experienced was real, no matter how horrifying. 

As you step off the bus into the sunlight, you think about math. You think about biology. Mostly, you think about how lucky you are to be alive and here on Earth, back home where you belong.


	7. It Looks Good On You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd make an excuse for putting this up late but I just forgot what day it was. Feel free to complain at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com

Your name is Dave Strider, and you do not give a single shit about junior prom.

Bro assures you it’ll be ironic. As you try to tie your bow tie for the four hundredth time, you glance at the computer. Any second now, John will message you. He knows you have to go to the stupid pre-party, and he’s probably ready to make fun of you forever.

You felt too bad to turn down the short, blonde girl from your math class. You’re pretty sure her name is Michelle, but everyone just calls her Micky, and you plan on doing the same. She’s funny in the dorky-sweet way that Jade is, and she’s one of your only non-Game friends. 

After all, it’s hard to connect with people who actually give a shit about your life when you have to keep a chunk of it secret.

You make the final adjustment on your knot and roll up your sleeves. Formal dance or not, you aren’t going to wear a jacket. Fuck that. Instead, you wear a simple white collared shirt and black jeans with a red bow tie. 

The bow tie, of course, is for the irony. You considered wearing red suspenders, but that might have been a little too much, if you’re going to be honest with yourself.

A quiet ding interrupts your thoughts, and in seconds you’re sitting at your desk.

EB: you ready stud?  
TG: of course  
TG: ladies wont know what hit them  
TG: one second theyll be grooving out to whatever one d song is playing  
TG: next thing you know they all collapse  
TG: not only have their ovaries exploded but ive also blown their minds with my dangerous allure  
EB: yeah… okay.  
EB: i’m sure the ladies totally dig you.  
TG: john  
TG: if ladies were paleontologists id be a t rex  
EB: …  
EB: that hurt.  
TG: it wasnt that bad  
EB: yes it was.

John, you think, clearly doesn’t know anything about the power of figurative language. Mrs. Davis would be disappointed.

EB: so???  
TG: so what   
EB: so do i get to see what you’re wearing?  
TG: jeez egbert  
TG: desperate much  
EB: how about shut up?  
EB: how about that?  
TG: yeah yeah calm your tits

You grab your phone and take a quick selfie, then text it to him. It takes a minute for him to respond, so you grab your shoes from under your bed and begin to jam your feet into them, a task that might be impossible.

EB: you really are a stud!  
EB: can you hear the wolf whistles, dave?  
EB: they beckon.  
TG: why thank you doll  
TG: my sweet little texan heart couldnt handle it if you disapproved  
TG: now i can die happy  
EB: fine, fine.  
EB: seriously, though.  
EB: it looks good on you.  
TG: no shit dude  
TG: thats why i wore it  
EB: so are you gonna get some serious mack on?

You’ve explained to John about a hundred times that Micky is just a friend, but he’s made weird jokes about her ever since you told him she’d asked you. You wish you could tell him how much you want to bring him to prom- how badly you want to watch John do the Cotton-Eyed Joe, or slow dance with him to How Do I Live. Of course, you’d bring any of your friends if you could, but John especially.

You definitely don’t get distracted by the idea of John resting his head on your shoulder.

TG: duh  
TG: what else would i be doing on prom night  
TG: definitely not going home early and playing video games with my friends online  
TG: oh no  
TG: ill be charming my way into the pants of the fourth hottest girl in my math class  
TG: because i am a lady killer  
TG: you want a lady dead  
TG: bam  
TG: thatll be fifty bucks  
EB: does she know how much of a loser you are?

Okay, so it’s not the best metaphor you’ve ever come up with. Whatever. They’re hit or miss.

TG: she can never know of my secret double life  
TG: im like the james bond of loserdom  
TG: everyone thinks im some ordinary cool guy  
TG: but then wham  
TG: i rip off my suit and reveal my inner loser  
TG: his name is john  
EB: isn’t that superman?  
TG: shut up  
TG: point is no youre the loser not me  
EB: okay, dave!  
EB: here i am, losing this argument.  
EB: woe is me!  
TG: yeah shut up  
TG: oh shit i need to shave  
EB: shave what?  
EB: the one chin hair that grew half a millimeter longer than the rest of your body hair?  
TG: why do you mock my manly pain bro

It’s a little true. You refuse to admit it, though.

TG: sorry but im gonna be late  
EB: yeah, yeah.  
EB: go seduce all of the ladies  
EB: with your lady killing ways!  
TG: thanks for the vote of confidence

You sign off reluctantly, knowing that you need to leave time for Bro to ambush you with a can of Axe. He knows you hate the stuff, and he hates it too, but his weird obsession with torturing you never ceases.

When you finally shout “I’m taking the keys!” to the seemingly-empty apartment, the sun is just beginning to set. The hallways are empty, too, and the elevator is too quiet. Your jumpiness doesn’t subside as you step out of the lobby onto the sidewalk, and when you finally reach the corner, Bro flashsteps out from behind a building and nearly knocks you on your ass.

Before you have time to react, he’s reaching towards your chest. You flinch back reflexively, only to see the tiny red rose he pins to your shirt. Wordlessly, he hands you a box with a matching rose on a bracelet- a corsage.

You gape at him wordlessly until, in a flash, he disappears once more.


	8. Call Me When You Get Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it is Sunday. Yes, I forgot what day it was. Yes, I apologize. Yes, I will probably do this again.
> 
> Contact me at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com

Your name is John Egbert, and you totally aren’t scared of the dark.

You’ve been working at a McDonald’s down the street since the beginning of March, and since today has been super warm, you decided to walk there and back. Unfortunately, you forgot to consider how dark it gets after about 8:00, and you are now walking just a little too fast to try and beat the shadows.

It’s at least another thirty minute walk, you think, and every hooded figure you see is a mass murderer in your mind. Maybe one of them will follow you home and stab you if you don’t know enough about scary movies. Maybe one of them will kidnap you and make you do really horrible stuff to try and escape. Maybe one of them will drag you into some sort of cabin in a wooded area!

Okay, so you haven’t seen that one yet. You’re busy.

As the air cools, you hug yourself tightly to try and conserve heat. Your stupid sweatshirt is too thin, and you curse yourself for forgetting it isn’t summer yet.

This is totally crazy! You could take anyone here in a fight. Easy.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. After the Game, you actually started working out. You had liked being strong, all those years ago. So, yeah, you could probably kick most of these people’s butts, even without windy powers and a hammer. 

Suddenly, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You jump a bit, then glance around sheepishly as you fish it out. You’re pretty sure no one saw, but just in case, you try to act normal as you approach the corner.

You check your phone as you wait for the light to change, avoiding the older dude next to you who smells a little too much like strawberries and fish. You wonder, absently, why that is.

[FROM DAVE]: you ok?

Right. You’re usually home by now, and you almost always Skype Dave as you do your homework. He freaks out a little when you’re late- he denies it, but his rants are always a bit longer and more nonsensical. You smile as you tap at the screen.

[TO DAVE]: i’m walking home.

The light changes, and as you cross the street, you glance down at your phone one last time.

[FROM DAVE]: ok call me when you get home

You laugh a bit. He has this weird habit of acting like you two are married. Married and old. Like, older than your dad.

The wind picks up a bit, and you start to jog. Gosh, Washington sure is cold! You wonder if Dave’s warm right now, or if he’s freezing his ass off like you. Probably the former.

Goddamn Texans, getting to be warm all the time.

When you finally reach your door, it’s nearly nine. Light raindrops splatter on the pavement as you dash inside and up the stairs, immediately grabbing the blankets off your bed and wrapping yourself up in a fun little blanket cocoon, then sit down in front of your computer. You open Skype and hit Dave’s name immediately, closing your eyes and leaning back in your chair.

“You look like a fucking hot dog.”

You smile and stick out your tongue, opening your eyes again to see Dave with wet hair and no shades. “I’m cold, you ass.”

“Doesn’t make you look less like a hot dog.”

“I’d say I’m more like pigs in a blanket.”

“Fuck you. That was terrible.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Jeez.”

As you fall into your familiar routine, you twirl the bits of thread that poke out of your blanket between your thumb and first finger. Your glasses start to slip, but you ignore them as Dave starts ranting about how dumb trigonometry is, and you burrow deeper into your weird blanket nest. His eyebrows are all scrunchy, you think, the way they get when he concentrates on stuff, and you watch as his wet hair starts to frizz. He’s nicked his chin shaving, you think, or maybe there’s some food on his face, and you’re entranced by its movement while he talks, moving up and down with his chin until eventually you start to notice a disturbing rhythm and realize he’s rapping.

“So don’t even tell me sines are all right, ‘cuz this homework’s got me stressing every-”

“Dave. Math is not an acceptable rapping subject.”

“What if it really sucks, though?” he asks, fake pouting.

“We outlined the proper rapping subjects at Friendship Meeting 34 with Jade and Rose! You have to respect the Friendship Meetings!”

“Why did I listen to you assholes about the fucking Friendship Meetings?” Dave grumbles.

“Because according to code 26-c section twelve-”

“You’re a loser,” he says, cutting you off and smirking.

“Hey,” you protest, frowning. “At least I’m trying to keep this family afloat!”

“But mom-”

“No buts! You all need to start pulling your weight around here! Do your chores! Eat your vegetables!”

Dave snorts. “You think that’s what having a mom is like?”

You shrug. “It’s what having a dad is like.”

He pulls a face, like the idea of having parents is the worst thing he’s ever heard. You laugh, and then let out a huge yawn.

He lets out a quiet laugh, too. “Sounds like it’s someone’s bedtime.”

You flip him off, but after only another half hour of talking, it’s getting pretty clear you’re falling asleep at your chair. When you apologize, he simply shrugs.

“Sleep is important, Egbert. Go catch some z’s.”

You mock him for the stupid phrase and insist on staying for another minute. He shakes his head.

“You look exhausted, man. Really. Go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning, served up hot and fresh every hour on the hour starting at five.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, loser. Good night.”

“Them’s fightin’ words, Egbert. I may just have to kick your ass.”

You yawn again- Jesus Christ, you’re _so tired_ \- and finally hang up.


	9. Good Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can contact me at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com, as well as posts regarding chapter updates.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has commented/kudosed so far! It really means a lot to me.
> 
> Also, I have no idea why but the word counter seems to be one too high. I tried deleting a word and it didn't change, so just bear with it for now. I don't know what happened.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you fucking hate Bro.

After a solid week of actually studying for chemistry, you actually feel half-confident about exams. After all, you’re Dave Strider. You can do whatever the hell you want, no matter what. Always.

But this. This just takes the fucking cake, doesn’t it.

You passed out at almost one last night. You had spent all night cramming for your exam, and you basically dreamed about chemistry. Walther fucking Nernst and his magnificent mustache haunted your mind, even though you couldn’t remember his equation for the life of you. Last night, you fell asleep knowing that, even if you didn’t do super well, you would still give that damn exam a run for it’s money. Today, you’re less sure.

Bro has somehow managed to cover every square inch of your room in felt- a feat, you must admit, that is really, really impressive. He must have spent hours last night sticking it to the walls and floor. He even got your bed without waking you up, which is more than a little terrifying. Still, as incredibly creepy and totally Bro as it is, you’ve got an exam in half an hour, and you would more than appreciate your chemistry notes for a bit of cramming.

Unfortunately, they, too, are covered in plush, velvety puppet ass. At least, it’s probably ass- smuppets, you think, are about seventy percent butt and twenty percent nose. The last ten percent is pure nightmare fuel.

Speaking of nightmare fuel, Lil’ has mysteriously disappeared since you entered the Game. Bro is still concerned, and while you were grateful at first, you’re uneasy now. Somehow, you find not knowing where he is a lot more disconcerting. Three years later, that thing is still damn terrifying.

The felt is draped over your desk and everything on it, including your computer, headphones, and school shit. Bro must have used some crazy strong tape or glue or whatever, you think as you attempt to make some headway. As you try to peel up the felt over your desk, you feel yourself start to panic. You can’t fail this exam. It isn’t an option. If you want any hope of following your friends to college, you need to find your god damn notes.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you thank all things holy that you fell asleep in your jeans. When you glance at the screen, you’re getting a call from John.

You slide your finger across the screen absently and set it on the desk.

“Hi, Dave!” he yells. “You ready for your exams?”

You glance at your alarm clock, then remember it’s covered in fucking felt. “Jesus, Egbert, it’s only seven thirty. Chill.”

“It’s five thirty here!” he practically screams. “I had seven shots of espresso! Man, I love coffee!”

You roll your eyes. “If you have a heart attack, it’s your fault.”

“I will never sleep again, Dave. This is my new life.”

“Okay, dude. Have fun with that.” You curse under your breath as you try yet again to peel back the corner of felt that you’ve cut open. It barely budges.

“Are you okay?” John asks, a bit quieter.

“Bro covered my damn room in puppet skins,” you explain. “My chem notes are stuck.”

“Yikes. Good luck with that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re on speaker phone, so you’ll hear when I murder him.” You manage to peel away a bigger chunk and throw your hands in the air in celebration. You then proceed to thank any and all deities that may give a shit that no one can see you.

“I’ll never tell.”

“You’re the only one I trust. Best henchman in the world.”

John giggles for a bit too long. Jeez, the caffeine must really be kicking in. “You’ll be fine for your exam, dude. You’ve got this. We went over stoichiometry last night and that’s all you need, right?”

“And gas laws.”

“Tell Boyle to fuck himself. Chemistry is evil.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You finally unearth your blue binder full of notes and glance at the clock.

Seven forty-five. Fifteen minutes to sprint to school.

“Look, John, I gotta fuckin’ dash. Rainbow and all.”

He laughs again. “That was bad.”

“I’m in a hurry,” you whine- except no, shut up, Striders do not whine- as you grab your bag. “I don’t have time to spit elaborate metaphors while you recline daintily on the biggest and most luxurious couch ever invented, eating grapes out of some sex slave’s sweaty palms while you plan on fucking him into oblivion and then going to bed next to your boring, privileged wife. Unlike some people, I have places to be.”

“Just because my exams aren’t until next week doesn’t mean you have to be so crabby,” he says as you grab an apple from the fridge, dodge a sword, and sprint out the door.

“Still. I’ll see you later, man. I gotta kick Einstein’s ass.”

“Einstein was spacetime. That’s physics.”

“Shut up. It’s basically the same thing.”

“I hate to break it to you, but your precious time won’t save you now.”

“Half-lives, bro. Radioactivity is the shit.”

“Did you know bananas are radioactive?”

You roll your eyes and continue sprinting, barely breaking a sweat. Thank god for Texan heat resistance. 

“Yes, John. I do have an internet connection. Thank you for asking.”

“Oh, don’t be such a dickwad. Don’t you have an exam to get to or something?”

“Hey. I’m almost there.”

“Would you say you’re running out of time?” He’s giggling again, the bastard.

“Shut up.”

“In a race against the clock?” 

“Egbert. I’m warning you.”

“You gotta spring into action!”

“Spring?”

“They’re in clocks. I can’t think of any more time puns.”

“Thank god.”

“Asshole,” he giggles.

When you finally reach school, you hang up. John is used to your abrupt goodbyes- he’ll understand. You shove your phone in your bag and sprint through the door and up two flights of stairs to the exam room.


	10. Sweet Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late again! Yell at me at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com

Your name is John Egbert, and you are so glad exams are over!

You’ve finally taken your English exam, and summer beckons. Jade has been texting you all day about your vacation plans (there aren’t any), and if you’re gonna be honest, all you want to do is hang out with Dave.

You’ve been begging your dad to let Dave come and visit for years, but he’s never said yes. He’s still suspicious of “strangers on the internet,” and even though you don’t blame him, it’s really frustrating when all you want to do is see your friends.

Two years ago, your dad decided to have a pool put in. Now, you swim in it every day once it gets warm, and you and your dad heat it up for movie nights sometimes. Dad will have neighborhood parties out back, which, thankfully, he lets you avoid.

It gets hard to talk to people sometimes.

You’re laying down on the side of the pool, dangling your bare feet and letting the concrete rake up and down your back every time you move. You fling your arm up across your face, letting the shade cool your eyelids and nose. Somewhere across the yard, two birds screech at each other. As you sit up, you catch a whiff of dough and lime and wonder how your dad’s first summer pies are coming along. A dry breeze tickles your arm, and you turn onto your side.

Dave.

So, you think, the trick is to get your dad to realize you’ve met him before. Easy enough, except you can’t mention the Game, either, which puts you in a bit of a pickle.

You suppose you could say you met him somewhere in town- that he was here for spring break or a class trip or even that he lives nearby- but then the lie would become obvious the second your dad asked him his favorite local restaurant.

Maybe if he could see that Dave is just another teenage boy, you’d be able to convince him. After all, they’ve never spoken over Skype.

Newly resolved, you head back into the house and out of the hot sun.

Inside, the smell of pie is even stronger. It overpowers you, but you fight through the nausea and force your way into the kitchen, where Dad’s pipe dangles from his mouth. He glances up as you enter, but says nothing.

“Hey, Dad,” you say.

He graces you with a slight nod.

“I’m gonna go talk to Dave now,” you say.

He nods again.

“You can come say hi if you want.”

At this, his brows come together in the middle of his forehead, separated by tiny wrinkles. You take another sip of water, then rock back and forth on your toes. You can hear birds outside and the tiny clicks of the oven. You start to count in your head, and you could swear it’s another three minutes before your dad nods again.

Then again, you might have just been counting really fast.

The light begins to shift as you make your way upstairs. Everything shifts slightly more to the golden side of yellow, and as you log into Skype you can see the sun dipping down into your window.

It feels like an eternity, but it probably only takes about two minutes for Skype to finish loading. When it does, the cloud next to Dave’s name is green, and you bounce in your chair as you click it.

When Dave’s face fills the screen, you grin.

“Hey, dude!”

He smirks. “Hey, John. How was your first day of summer? Did y’all sing about anticipation and shit?”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “You gotta see High School Musical, dude. Best Disney series of all time.”

You shrug. “You said that about Camp Rock, and it really wasn’t that great.”

“I’m gonna murder you. Camp Rock is a classic.”

As the sun sinks lower across your window, you and Dave explore the usual topics, including the inevitable robopocalypse, shitty nineties rap, Star Wars, and various new pirate-themed bands. When your room is nearly dark, you hear a quiet knock on the door.

You clear your throat. “Come in, Dad.”

The door opens slowly and your dad steps silently into the room. Dave is silent too, for once, and you wonder if just being around your dad is enough to shut him up. You’ll have to run some experiments. Maybe you can use Jade as a control group.

Shut up, science thoughts!

Your dad walks behind you so that his head is just out of shot. Dave hesitates, then smiles and waves. You can see the tension behind his eyes.

You jump when your dad says “Hello, David.”

Dave gives a nervous laugh. “Uh, hi, Mr. Egbert. It’s just Dave, actually.”

Your dad nods, then turns and leaves. You let out a huge breath, and Dave chuckles nervously.

“Strong and silent type, huh?”

You fall back into your old rhythm, teasing each other about whatever comes to mind, until the room begins to grow dark. Dave is already yawning, despite the fact that he slept in until noon today. 

“It’s barely nine!”

“Eleven for me, John,” he says, allowing a bit of his accent to slip through. “Us Texans are just about ready to settle down for the night.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you say, snorting and waving him off.

“Before I go,” he says through a yawn, “what was up with your dad earlier? Not to call him a creep, but if the shoe fits…”

You shrug. “He wanted to know who you are.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say, feigning nonchalance. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“John,” Dave says, half-whining.

“Cross my heart.”

He pouts. “Fine. I’m gonna hold this against you until you tell me, though.”

You laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

“All right dude. Well, sweet dreams and all that.”

You smile. “You too, Dave.”

There’s a click as the computer turns off, and with that, you fall dead asleep.


	11. I Bought You a Ticket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will now be updated twice a week- Mondays and Wednesdays.
> 
> Contact me at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com

Your name is Dave Strider, and Texas is too damn hot. 

You’ve been laying on the couch for three hours marathoning Parks and Recreation in nothing but boxers, eating red popsicles out of the box and fanning yourself with old math notes. Your hair is glued to your forehead with sweat, and every time you shift, you can feel the dampness of the couch beneath you. The whole house smells like B.O. and it’s smelled like that for a month.

Your phone, nestled between your knee and a pillow, has been silent for almost two days. Jade, like always, has left you a long-ass voicemail about some weird ancient artifact to explain her absence, and Rose is often silent for days on end with little or no explanation, but John-

Well. John doesn’t usually disappear like this.

As the next episode of Parks and Rec begins and you finish your fourth popsicle, your Bro flashsteps into the room and snatches a popsicle from the box.

“Hey,” you protest, but he just opens it and pops it in his mouth.

“Got any plans today?” he asks.

“Nah. Figured I’d just chill for a bit. Too hot to do anything.”

He nods. “Cool. Pick up some of this fucking mess. I’m going out to meet a client. Be back whenever.”

You nod and unwrap a fifth popsicle. In a moment, he’s disappeared. 

Suddenly, your phone buzzes. You jump and snatch at it before it hits the ground, upending the box of popsicles in the process. You begin gathering them with your right hand while you swipe your phone open with your left. 

“John?” you say, holding the phone up to your ear.

“Hey, Dave!” he half-shouts into your ear. “Guess what?”

Dumping the popsicles back into the box, you sigh. “What?”

He giggles. “Guess, dummie!”

You stand and carry the box to the finally-functioning fridge, depositing the box in the freezer. “I don’t know, man. Did you get a puppy or something?”

“Not even close.”

You roll your eyes as you shut the freezer door with your hip. “Your dad’s taking you to Disney World?”

He giggles again- dork- and yells “One more guess!”

You can practically hear him bouncing off the god damn walls. 

“I don’t know, John. I give up. What?”

He squeals, and you plop back down on the couch, your limbs sprawling against the worn cushions. You sigh again and turn off the TV, figuring Leslie Knope can wait another couple of days to resolve her shit. John is babbling something about chores and his dad, and you lay your head back over the arm of the couch, your sweaty hair falling out of your eyes and dangling towards the ground.

“-and so he said you could come!”

You frown. “Wait,” you say, scratching at your arm. “What?”

“My dad said you can come and visit!”

You bolt upright, your hair slapping at your forehead. “What?” you repeat.

“Oh my god, Dave. You heard me.”

You take a deep breath. You’re going to see him. You are going to be with John Egbert in the flesh, the way you haven’t been since the Game.

Holy shit.

“Really?” you ask, struggling to contain your excitement, because Jesus fuck it’s hard to be cool when you’ve just had the best news of your life.

“Yeah, dude! He said you can come up next Friday and stay as long as you want- at least until we have to go back to school.” 

You jump up and let a small whoop of joy escape, and John laughs again, and god damn you could kiss him.

You’ll be able to kiss him.

You’ve thought about it a lot- seeing him for the first time, pulling him close, feeling his breath on his lips, your shades clicking against his glasses- but you are entirely unprepared for the real possibilities that will exist if you can see him in real life.

You sit back down as John babbles again, this time about all the things you’ll do together- “We can go swimming, and my dad will make burgers, and I’ll show you the playground I used to go to as a kid and the shitty green pogo thingie that’s still in my yard, even though it definitely isn’t safe, and…”

God, you can just see him holding a dumb sign at the airport…

Oh, god.

The airport.

Your heart sinks. You and Bro aren’t starving or anything, but money’s always been tight. You know he has a bit saved for you to maybe go to some community college someday, and you make enough to occasionally fix something in your crap-hole apartment, but there’s no way you can afford an airplane ticket to Washington- at least, not without a pretty significant warning and a lot of time to save.

Well, shit.

“John,” you say quietly, interrupting him mid-babble.

He immediately stops. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and you wince.

“I can’t come.”

There’s a pause. You imagine John sitting down on his bed, frowning, and the idea makes your heard die a little.

“Why not?”

Man. You really do not want to explain this. John isn’t rich, but compared to you, he’s essentially Trump. He knows you don’t have a lot of money, but a lot of the time that doesn’t seem to translate for him. You aren’t sure how he’ll react, but however it goes, you’ll both probably be uncomfortable as all hell.

You take a deep breath. “I can’t afford a ticket,” you say quietly, almost-blushing.

“Oh,” he says, and suddenly he’s laughing. 

“Hey,” you say, shocked and maybe a little hurt. “I’m serious.”

“No,” he says, still laughing. “No, you don’t get it.”

“I don’t get what?” you ask a bit defensively.

“I bought you a ticket.”

You pause again. “Really?”

“Well, my dad did, anyway. Oh, and he already talked to your brother. It’s all cool.”

You let yourself grin, then. Seeing John. You’ll really be with him.

You can’t wait.


	12. It's Okay. I Couldn't Sleep Anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone again for the kudos and comments. They're really encouraging, especially when I have bad writer's block and need to get through another chapter. You guys mean the world to me!
> 
> Contact me at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com, or follow if you want to be notified when I update. Updates are now every Monday and Wednesday, as I believe I said on the last chapter, but keep on the lookout for changes in the schedule.
> 
> Enjoy!

Your name is John Egbert, and this is the longest Thursday night you’ve ever experienced. 

The half-moon is crawling across the sky, tormenting you by shining directly onto your sleepless face through the half-open window. A slight breeze brushes across your face. Normally, this would have put you to sleep hours ago, but tonight, you just sneeze.

You flip onto your stomach and push the covers to your feet. You hook your arms under the pillow and will yourself to sleep.

After all, the faster you fall asleep, the faster morning will come, and the faster Dave will be here.

This has been worse than every Christmas you’ve ever experienced. All week, you’ve been restless, Skyping Dave at every opportunity and flying through your shifts at work. Every day, the hands of the clock have dragged themselves around, and every night, the stars have shifted until you’ve fallen asleep, usually around three in the morning. Tonight, though, sleep seems especially impossible, like you’ve had four cups of coffee.

You tried texting Jade, but she was busy with something. Besides, the time isn’t that different- even as you were tossing and turning, she was trying to get home for bed.

Rose is definitely asleep- she may stay up late, but by now, it’s eight for her, so she’ll have been asleep for a few hours, and she’ll stay that way until at least noon. You don’t know how she spends her days aside from texting you, Jade, Dave, and Kanaya. You suspect she talks to Karkat sometimes as well, but she refuses to admit it if she does. Her mom is pretty damn rich- you doubt Rose has a job, and if she does, it’s probably at some bookstore for goth weirdos.

As you turn to your left, trying to shield yourself from the moon, your mind wanders to Dave and all the things you want to do with him. You’ll have to bring him to Ginny and Janie’s, your favorite corner store with the incredible cinnamon rolls, and maybe you can go to the old arcade on Main. Maybe you’ll take him to the lake a few miles from your house- you finally have your license, after all, so you can totally take him for a day trip. Maybe you’ll swim, if it gets hot enough.

Maybe you’ll see him in his bathing suit. Maybe, if it gets hot, and the two of you lay out on the beach, he’ll get close enough for cuddling. Maybe even close enough to kiss.

You shake your head at your own ridiculousness. You know he doesn’t like to be touched- he told you so in the Game, after Jade squeezed him and picked him up- and besides, it’s not like _he’d_ want to kiss _you_. 

You flip onto your other side. Gosh, you wish he was here now. You wish that you could hear his voice without the crackle of static behind it, distorting him and his sound until he becomes something else. You want to see him clearly, without pixels. You want to see his eyes in person and remember their exact color again. You’ve thought about asking him for pictures of his eyes before, so that you could see it again, but you figured it’d be a little creepy. Besides, you doubt he’d do it.

You turn onto your back and pull your covers back up as the wind picks up. You used to know the wind like it was your own mind, pulling and pushing around you like an extension of your body, carrying you in arms that were somehow your own and somehow alien, somehow _other_. You used to hear it whispering and understand; you used to know what it wanted and what you wanted, and those two desires would blend into one, and the wind would weave through you and do exactly what you wanted, because it was exactly what the wind wanted.

Now, the wind is cold and impersonal. You still love the feel of it against your skin, but nowadays it chills you to the bone, digs into your skin and doesn’t let go until you block it.

You miss the wind. You miss flying, too. Really, if the Game hadn’t been so horrifying, it would have been incredible.

You turn back towards your phone and brush your hair out of your face, considering the options. You don’t want to wake Dave- you do it way too often, after all- but you need some sleep, or at least a way to pass the time.

Making a sudden decision, you grasp at your phone and dial quickly. You hit the speaker button and place the phone next to your face on the pillow, listening to the dial tone and taking a weird kind of comfort in it.

It cuts off, and you hear a small groan.

“Dave?”

He lets out another moan. “Hey, John. You have a nightmare?”

You shrug, then remember he can’t see you. “Not really. I just couldn’t- I don’t know. I just needed to talk to you.”

“Okay,” he says quietly.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” you mumble, feeling like this was a mistake.

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway,” he says, and you can almost picture him next to you, whispering in the darkness.

“Do you ever miss flying?” you ask, trying not to let your voice tremble.

“Yeah,” Dave says. “All the time.”

You pause again, listening to the static and letting the wind raise goosebumps on your arms. “I can’t wait to see you,” you say quietly.

“Me neither,” Dave whispers. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Because really, you do. You can’t imagine him in real life- can’t imagine the changes time has brought to his face, his eyes, his body. You can’t picture a world without him, but you can’t picture him next to you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whisper, turning again.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “See you tomorrow, Egbert.”


	13. Wow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank everyone again for the kudos and comments. They're what make me want to keep writing!
> 
> Speaking of, I'm going to be out of town for the next couple weeks, so the update schedule is going to be a little different- I'm going to update Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of this week, and I'm going to update every day during the third week of July. Sorry for the weirdness- I won't have internet or anything, so there's nothing I can do- but I hope you enjoy these next few chapters!
> 
> As always, contact me at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com

Your name is Dave Strider, and Washington is surprisingly rainy.

The windows of the airport are dark and soaked, and as you approach the hallway to the rest of the airport, you are stunned by the sheer weight of the rain against the ceiling, hammering against it loudly. There isn’t much of a crowd, but the few people you see are mostly businesspeople, glancing at phones and carrying small suitcases while wearing immaculate suits. You feel out of place in your skinny jeans and red tee, with your worn-out converse (ironic, of course) flying across the ugly airport carpet.

After an hour’s delay before taking off from Texas, it’s almost eleven, and you’re completely exhausted.

Your suitcase isn’t huge, but it’s heavy, so you end up turning around to haul it with two hands across a small metal bar laid over the ground. When you finally get it over the bump, you turn, only to feel something small and warm colliding with you.

After the initial shock, you notice John’s messy black hair against your shirt, his strong, tan arms squeezing your chest until you can’t breathe.

Within moments, you’re holding him even tighter.

His hair just tickles your nose, and when you inhale, you can smell mint and the faint scent of soap. Without thinking, you bring one hand up to hold the back of his head, the other still locked over his shoulders- god, he’s skinny- and notice just how soft his hair is, slipping through your fingers like silk. His nose presses against your collarbone, and your heart races.

It feels like years before he steps back, but at the same time it feels far too short. His blue eyes scan you insistently, his hands remaining on your arms, warming you to the core. His glasses are dirty, you notice, and his eyelashes, dark as coal, brush against the lens. He’s got faint freckles on his nose and cheeks- nothing compared to yours, of course- and his mouth is barely open, revealing his newly braces-free teeth, still a little too large for his mouth.

“Wow,” he whispers, and you notice his eyes going shiny and shimmering. Embarrassingly, you feel a familiar prickling behind your eyes, and, blinking, you reach out and grab the edge of his sleeve between two fingers, trying to wrap your mind around his solidity, his reality- where he existed a moment ago in your mind, he is now in front of you, short and dorky and real.

“Hey, John,” you mutter, entranced by his sleeve.

He’s grinning, suddenly, his eyes drinking you in, and he let’s out a small noise before reaching past you and grabbing your suitcase. His hand brushes your ribs, and they tingle pleasantly, his warmth lingering on your chest and arms.

“C’mon,” he says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Dad’s in the car.”

You nod, following him closely as he lugs your suitcase behind him. It looks ten times bigger against his slender form, and the corner of your mouth twitches. 

As you step out into the rain, a small blue car pulls in front of you. You recognize John’s dad’s pipe and hat from the Game, and after John has wrestled your suitcase into the trunk, he opens the door for you, dramatically ushering you in. He scoots in next to you, his hand resting casually on your arm for balance, and you’re still a bit stunned by how warm he is. You wish you were wearing a sweatshirt- specifically John’s. 

As you pull out of the airport parking lot, John is oddly silent. He keeps staring at your hands, and after a second, he elbows you in the side.

“What?” you ask.

“You made it,” he says, grinning.

“Yeah,” you say, staring at a piece of hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “Yeah, I did.”

“So,” John says, practically bouncing in his seat. “What do you want to do first?”

You shrug. “I’m pretty tired,” you say. “We could play video games.”

“Oh!” John yells. “MarioKart! I’m gonna kick your ass.”

You snort. “Sure, Egbert. No one’s better than Dave Strider at MarioKart.”

He laughs. “He is simply the best there is!”

You crack a smile, then- a real smile, because this is John, and you guess you can let yourself feel stuff around him- and lean your head against his shoulder. He freezes for a second, then wraps an arm around you, and you take in the soft fabric against your face and his nearly-scentless deodorant before sitting back up and staring at the abundance of trees out the rainy window. 

The car ride is mostly silent. You’re tired, and you and John just sort of stare at each other, like neither of you can quite believe where you are. The sound of an acoustic guitar quietly fills the car, and the rain patters against the windows, and the whole world shrinks to the backseat. John hasn’t stopped smiling, and you can’t stop staring, and the whole thing feels comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected.

It takes only half an hour to get to John’s, and his dad insists on carrying your suitcase up to John’s room, so the two of you rush up there first. You plop down on John’s bed, and he lays beside you, his hand laying on your forearm.

“Shades,” he says, and you hand him your shades and turn towards him.

His face is only a couple inches from yours, so you examine the deep, dark blue of his eyes, laced with gray and silver. He’s giggling, as per usual, but as you let your eyes drift down to his small nose and dry lips, he pauses for a moment and holds his breath.

You close your eyes when they start to hurt, and you hear John shift off the bed. He pulls the blankets out from under you and pulls them over you, then slides in next to you.

You don’t open your eyes again until morning.


	14. Don't Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another update this Friday!
> 
> Also, if you haven't seen Valley Girl, I highly recommend it. It's a damn classic, and the soundtrack ranges from "I Melt With You" by the Plimsouls to "Johnny Are You Queer" by Josie Cotton. Also, Nic Cage is a punk. 
> 
> Contact me at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com!

Your name is John Egbert, and you are in first place in Mario Kart.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Dave says, and you roll your eyes. As his Peach creeps up on your Luigi, he tackles you, shoving you to the ground with his body weight and pinning you there. He lets out a triumphant “hah!” as his kart whizzes past yours into first place.

“No!” you yell, watching the silver “2” dance on the bottom of your screen. You pout at Dave. “Curse you, fiend!”

He laughs. “Aw, Egbert,” he says, patting your hair as you squirm under him. “Don’t cry. It’s just you getting your ass beat.”

You shove him off, rolling away with your controller tucked under one arm. He’s up in a flash, and you roll away from his pounce, leaving him flat on his face. You laugh, only to be left in agony as his hands dart out at your sides.

“Knew you were ticklish,” he mutters as you squeal.

“Fuck off!” you scream, trying to escape. 

He laughs again, laying on top of you and closing his eyes. You relax as his hands finally stop, breathing heavily, and tap him on the shoulder.

He groans, and you roll your eyes. “Give up yet?”

He shoves your shoulder gently and gets up, running a hand through his hair. His eyes open, and you’re stunned yet again by their fire-like intensity. You sit up slowly, fixing your wrinkled tee and adjusting your glasses.

“Another round?” you ask, gesturing to the Wii remote.

He shakes his head. “I beat you three times, fair and square. I get to pick the game.”

You sigh. “All right,” you say, ejecting Mario Kart from the Wii and shrugging. “What do you wanna play?”

He pores over your games for a moment before grabbing Wii Sports. “I’m gonna kick your ass in tennis,” he says, inserting the disc. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Calm your tits, Egbert. You know I’m the Wii champion.”

“I have other consoles, nerd,” you say.

“Nothing beats the Wii.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

As the game loads, you sneak a glance at Dave’s profile beside you. His nose is particularly fascinating- not only is it covered in freckles, just like the rest of him, but it’s sort of stubby and cute in a way that you’d never quite noticed. It’s actually kind of girly, really- the whole “ski-slope” nose thing fits him really well, and when you combine that with his long, golden eyelashes and pink lips, he’s pretty feminine-looking. 

You like that about him. He might like to pretend he’s all hard edges, but every bit of him flows into itself with smooth curves and-

Wow. You need to focus on tennis.

Luckily, you are the Wii Sports master, regardless of what Dave said. You beat him easily in every game, and by the time you turn off the Wii for dinner, he’s been forced to admit defeat. You rub it in his face as you slurp down the spaghetti your dad made, which Dave calls “the best damn food I’ve ever shoved in my face-hole” and which you call “pretty good for spaghetti.”

The chocolate-chip cookies that come after are to die for.

After dinner and dessert, you and Dave flop onto the couch for a movie night. He gets to pick first, as the guest, and he chooses some shitty Adam Sandler movie about a freaky hamster thing and a bunch of stories coming true. You make fun of it the whole time, and he joins in, your conversation flowing easily and casually until the end of the painful film.

You choose _Valley Girl_ because it’s a damn classic, and Dave can deal with it!

When punk Nic Cage finally makes the best joke of all time (“Is this in 3D?” “No, but your face is!”), you feel an unfamiliar weight on your shoulder. Looking down leads only to a face full of thin blonde hair.

“Dave?” you ask, quietly.

“Shut up. I’m tired,” he says without moving.

You pause for a moment, then look back at the movie, trying not to let yourself get distracted. Dave shifts slightly and your heart races, the smell of his hair invading every bit of your mind.

God damn it.

After about half an hour, you’re laying down with Dave’s head on your chest, still trying to pay attention to the movie. Dave has started snoring quietly, which you would normally find annoying but is now oddly endearing. His comfortable weight makes you sleepy, and you laugh softly as you notice his legs hanging off the edge of the couch.

When the movie finally reaches its end, you tap Dave lightly on the head. He groans, but doesn’t move. After a couple of tries, you sigh.

It’s warm here. You’re comfy. You really, _really_ don’t want to move.

With a bit of effort you manage to grab the blanket draped over the back of the couch and cover Dave with it. You slide out from underneath him as carefully as you can, meticulously pulling your limbs out from under his and breathing as quietly as possible. When you’ve finally extracted yourself, it’s been another fifteen minutes. 

You smooth out the blanket carefully, then stare at Dave’s sleeping form for a second, feeling a bit like Edward Cullen, and not in a good way. His eyelashes are illuminated by a sliver of moonlight creeping through the window, and it takes an enormous effort to tear your eyes away and tiptoe upstairs.

Once you’ve brushed your teeth and put on your pajamas, you grab another couple blankets from the hall closet and sneak back downstairs, quieter this time. The living room is silent aside from Dave’s regular breathing, and as you spread the blankets across the floor, you take comfort in the sound. It reminds you that he’s still here- that he won’t disappear by morning.

You lay down on the floor next to him and quickly fall asleep.


	15. You're Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins a two-week hiatus...
> 
> Starting the seventeenth, I'll update every day until the 22nd. 
> 
> Have fun reading!

Your name is Dave Strider, and you can’t believe it’s already the last week of July.

It’s been rainy and cold for the past week, and John has been antsy as fuck. He’s dragged you to six movies, four restaurants, a crummy old arcade, and even the mall on one occasion. 

Today, though, the two of you woke to sunny forecasts and a hot day. At least, John says “hot.” As a Texan, you’re of the opinion that eighty degrees is “warm” at best. The lake was his dad’s idea, but by now, John’s already forced you into your bathing suit and a tee, and with much lathering of sunscreen you’re in the back of his dad’s car, still listening to his weird rambling.

It takes about fifteen minutes for him to finally run out of things to say, so he suggests a good old-fashioned game of I-Spy. Despite your protests, you find yourself describing “something black.”

“The road?” he asks, squinting at the rising sun.

“Nope.”

“Your seat?”

You adjust your shades, willing him to guess. “Nope.”

It takes four more tries before he gets it.

“They’re more gray than black,” he protests, but you shake your head.

“My shades are black. Your turn.”

He scoffs, then peers out the window. “I spy with my little eye something purple.”

You glance out the window at a field of aster. “The flowers?”

He nods, frowning. “How are you so good at this?”

The next forty-five minutes pass quickly. By the time you arrive at the sandy side of the lake, John has lost almost every round. 

“I’m still the video game champion of the world,” he protests.

“Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3,” you say, laying a towel on the sand and spraying even more sunscreen on your arms.

John laughs. “That barely counts as a video game anyway.”

You sit down, leaning back on your arms, and watch as John pulls off his white tee, leaving only his dark blue swim trunks. He’s not muscular, exactly, but he’s lean and strong-looking and even though his chest isn’t as tanned as his arms, it’s still a nice gold-ish color.

He doesn’t notice your staring as he puts his hands on his hips and stares across the water

“I haven’t been to a beach in years,” you say, raking your fingers through the coarse sand.

“Really?” John asks. “Dad and I come here all the time during the summer. One time we rented canoes to go fishing and Dad caught this huge fish in the middle of the lake. It took him, like, twenty minutes to set the thing loose.”

“You didn’t eat it?”

“Nah. I think you need a permit to fish here. Besides, you see that shack a little way down the beach?” He points at the yellow monstrosity. “It’s a fish and chips place. Some British guy owns it. He catches all his fish from the lake. It’s incredible. We can go for dinner. Dad packed us a lunch.” He gestures to the water. “Come on. Let’s go swimming!”

You shake your head. “It’s probably freezing, dude. It isn’t even hot out. I’m gonna take a nap.”

He pouts. “Dave,” he whines, and you sit up and cross your arms.

“I’m not going in there, dude. I don’t wanna freeze to death at the ripe old age of seventeen.”

John sticks out his tongue. “You’re such a baby.”

You shrug. “Or I like being warm.”

“You’re warm. Warm enough. Come onnnnn.”

You sigh. “All right, look,” you say, then bite the inside of your cheek. John huffs, folds his arms over his chest, and raises an eyebrow. You sigh again, more dramatically this time, and nod. “Okay, yes. I will go in. Fuck you.”

He grins and reaches out his arm. You take it and he yanks you up, pulling you so hard you crash into him for a second. He laughs as you right yourself. “Sweet!”

With that, he sprints towards the water, pulling you after him by your wrist. You panic for a moment when the cold water brushes your toes, but he keeps pulling you until it’s hitting your swim trunks and that’s when you stop cold. He tugs at your wrist, but you refuse to budge, until eventually he stops and turns to look back at you.

“What?” he asks, letting go of your wrist.

You grit your teeth. “It’s cold,” you say, an edge creeping into your voice.

“No, it isn’t,” John protests (and okay, maybe it isn’t). “What’s up, really?”

You worry at the inside of your lip with your teeth for a moment, considering, and then close your eyes and blurt out “Idon’tknowhowtoswim.”

John frowns. “You don’t?”

You shift awkwardly. “I mean, I won’t drown or anything. I took a couple classes at the Y. I just don’t really swim a lot, like, ever, because we live in the city and pool memberships are expensive, you know? And, I don’t know, I’m not a great swimmer, and I’d rather not ruin your summer by drowning or some dumb shit like that.”

John pauses, then shrugs. “Okay. We don’t have to go any deeper than this.”

You nod. “I mean, maybe a little wouldn’t be a problem.”

John laughs. “You could have just told me, you know.”

You shrug. “Whatever, dude. It doesn’t matter.”

He shrugs too, then reaches down into the water and splashes you. You definitely don’t gasp as the cold drops hit your arms and tee, and John giggles maniacally.

“Oh, it’s on,” you say menacingly, splashing him back.

Lunchtime comes and goes, and when John’s dad comes to pick you up, you all head down to the shack and get fish and chips, which are surprisingly good. You and John settle into the back seat of his dad’s car and within ten minutes John is asleep. You stare silently out the window, watching the sun set, until the gentle rocking of the car sends you to sleep as well.


	16. Don't Worry About Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> Sorry about the longer-than-expected hiatus. Between work, college applications, and summer homework, I'm a bit swamped.
> 
> Updates are going to be a bit sporadic. I love writing this, and I absolutely love the kind and supportive comments you guys have been leaving (tbh, I'd probably abandon this without them). However, with all the things I have left to do and the fact that I'm going to be out of town for a bit of August, I'm not sure a regular update schedule is realistic.
> 
> I'll post everything I have written as of right now over the next couple of days, and then we'll see what happens. I definitely want to keep going with this- it's fun and I'm happy to be contributing to this fandom for the first time.
> 
> Anyway. Sorry about the wait and the disrupted schedule, but I'm more than a little overwhelmed at the moment. This should get a bit better come September, when all my college apps are in (I'm trying to finish it early) and I have a more regular schedule.
> 
> Enjoy! As always, I can be contacted at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com.

Your name is John Egbert, and it is a perfect summer night.

A cool breeze is dancing in through the window, and when you turn onto your side, Dave is on the floor, sprawled across an air mattress and tangled in blankets. His shades have been abandoned on the floor next to him, carefully tucked under your desk with his bag. His hair flops across his forehead, half-covering his eyes and brushing against the freckles that you know are there, even though they’re invisible in the darkness.

With him here, his breathing the only noise besides the wind, you feel safer than you’ve felt in years.

More than anything, you long to sleep next to him the way you did on his first day here. He practically melted against you, falling into such a deep sleep that you couldn’t help but giggle a bit. You fell asleep gripping his wrist, feeling for his pulse to reassure yourself he was okay.

Now, the world moves slowly. You are content with this; as long as Dave is here, time can crawl as much as it wants to. August has already begun, and you’ve barely got another week left with him.

Dave shifts, kicks another layer of blankets away, and you smile. Gosh, he’s cute when he’s sleeping. You wonder if there’s another human being who looks as peaceful as he does when he sleeps.

He shifts again, his brow furrowing slightly, and you watch him more intently as he turns, his mouth opening into a perfect “o.”

“Dave?” you whisper, but he begins to toss and turn, making small, pained noises and tangling himself further in blankets. You watch as his breathing turns shallow, as he begins to whimper in his sleep, swatting at something near his face.

“Stop,” he whispers, and immediately you’re by his side.

“Dave,” you say quietly, shaking his shoulder.

“No,” he moans, curling into a ball.

“Dave,” you whisper, shaking him harder. “Wake up.”

He gasps, his eyes flying open, and sits up straight, nearly slamming his head into yours. Immediately, he grabs your shirt in one shaking fist and raises the other. You duck, but the impact never comes.

You open one eye to see him running a hand through his sweat-sticky hair, leaving it disheveled and sticking up in odd directions. He loosens his grip on your shirt but doesn’t let go, instead bringing his other hand to your shoulder and staring at you intently.

“Dave?” you whisper.

He opens his mouth as though to speak, then closes it again and leans forward until his forehead rests on your shoulder. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around him. He’s shaking, you realize- trembling and half-sobbing and gripping you so tightly that your shirt pulls hard at the back of your neck, so you rest your head on top of him and whisper that it’s okay, that he’s safe, that it’ll be okay, you promise.

You stay like that for a while, rubbing little circles into his back until his breathing evens out and the trembling is less noticeable. He isn’t relaxed, but at least he seems to have stopped hyperventilating, and when he finally lifts his head, your shirt is damp but his eyes are dry.

“Sorry,” he mutters, letting you go.

You loosen your grip on him but keep your arms around him. Looking him in the eye, you ask, “Nightmare?”

He shrugs. “It was nothing.”

“Dave,” you say softly, moving your hands to his cheeks and tilting his head gently until he looks at you. “Are you okay?”

He stares blankly for a moment. “I’m fine, John,” he says, looking down. “Don’t worry about me.”

You frown. “I _am_ worrying about you, okay? I know how it is to get nightmares. You know that. Come on.”

He just shrugs again, and you can see him shutting down, like he doesn’t want you to ask anything else, but you can’t help yourself.

“Tell me about it,” you say.

He pauses for a moment. “You sure?”

You nod.

“I don’t know, dude. It was pretty standard. In the Game, everyone dying, me not being able to save them. The usual.”

You guess your concern is written all over your face as he can’t seem to meet your eyes. You nod once, firmly, and let go of his face.

“Budge over.”

He frowns. “What?” 

“Budge over. I’m sleeping down here tonight.”

“John,” he protests quietly, but you manage to scoot onto the air mattress without much trouble and lay down. In a moment, he lays down beside you. You grab his hand and clutch it to your chest.

“Can you feel my heartbeat?” you whisper.

He nods.

“Okay,” you say. “So you know I’m here and alive and everything’s gonna be fine.”

He nods again and closes his eyes, his legs pressed against yours, his breath tickling your lips.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you whisper, watching his breathing even out, the wrinkles disappearing from his forehead.

“John,” he breathes, clutching at your shirt again.

“I know,” you whisper. “I’m right here. I promise.”

His breathing deepens as you watch over him, willing him to have peaceful dreams and wondering how many times he’s woken up alone with the sounds of dying screams echoing in his ears.

Probably about as often as you have, you think.

Jesus.

He never calls when he has nightmares. You wonder how he manages all of it alone. You think maybe he doesn’t manage it at all, not really.

As his breathing grows steadier and steadier, you rub your forefinger across his knuckles in a feeble attempt at comfort. You hope desperately that, by sleeping next to him, you will somehow stave off his nightmares. You wonder if this is how he feels when you call him at three in the morning- if maybe, he feels a bit like your knight, guarding you from the evilest parts of your mind.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep beside him.


	17. It Reminded Me Of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehehe...
> 
> I like this one.
> 
> hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com

Your name is Dave Strider, and you really don’t want to pack.

Over the past month and a half, your shit has stayed, for the most part, in John’s room. In fact, most of it is still in your suitcase. A few things, though, have been strewn across the room, like the hoodie hanging off the back of John’s chair or the ironic scrapbook you left under his bed. You’re honestly not sure if you want to bring either back home; it might be nicer if John just keeps them for a while.

Speaking of John, he’s in the shower, going through the same morning routine he’s gone through since you arrived. You’ve learned his habits so well- in a minute, he’ll step through the door, a towel around his waist because he’s forgotten his clothes, and ask you to turn around for a second. When he lets you turn back, he’ll be shirtless, his damp hair sticking to his neck and forehead, and you’ll subtly adjust your pants as he wriggles into his shirt. He won’t notice you staring, but he’ll tease you anyway, after which you’ll remind him that you’re the heartthrob here. He’ll mess up your hair, you’ll call him a douche, and the day will go on.

It’s crazy to think that tomorrow, you’ll be home. 

Tomorrow, you’ll be alone.

You shake the thought from your head as you shove another shirt into your suitcase. You won’t be alone. You’ll just be- well, you’ll be in Texas, and he’ll be here. You’ve survived it before, and you can survive it again.

Admittedly, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to fall asleep without him next to you.

There is a part of you that’s relieved John finally knows how bad it gets for you. He’s one of the only people in the world who might ever understand, and you’re glad he’s willing to be there for you. 

At the same time, though, Bro always taught you that needing people was a weakness, a flaw, something to be ashamed of, and you’ve never really questioned that. It didn’t take long in the Game to realize what a piece of shit he was- and, admittedly, still is- or to figure that most of his bullshit was precisely that. Still, you can’t help but feel like you’re letting yourself down by letting John see you at your most vulnerable, shaken to the core and shivering with the memory of his blood on your hands.

You know he gets the nightmares too, but it doesn’t make you feel any better.

Before you can work yourself into even worse of a state, the door creaks open, John holding his towel up with one hand. Before he’s even asked, you turn around, trying not to let the image of his chest fill your mind.

Something gross, you think, listening to him rummaging through his drawers. Terezi in a clown suit. No, Karkat in a clown suit. No, the two of them fucking in a clown suit.

“Okay,” John says, and you turn back to your suitcase, refusing to look at him but finding yourself unwilling to look away. You allow yourself the peripheral view of his arms stretching above his head, of fabric covering his light brown torso until he’s drowning in blue.

“Hey, Dave?” he says, and you turn to look at him.

“What?”

He holds up a small, white box tied closed with a red ribbon. Grinning, he holds it out to you. “Surprise!” he yells, a bit too loudly.

You frown and reach for the small package. “What’s this for?”

He shrugs. “Going away gift? I don’t know. It reminded me of you.” When you hesitate for a moment, he rolls his eyes. “Come on, open it!”

You untie the ribbon carefully, tuck it into your pocket, and open the box. Within it is a small woven bracelet of red and blue, with a bit of white woven into it. You stare at it for a moment, turning it over in your hands until you notice a bit of writing on the inside in black marker.  
It takes you a moment to decipher the blurred script, but you’re able to make out two sets of initials- “JE & DS.”

“Do you like it?” John asks, still a bit too loud. “I bought it a few months ago because, ya know, it’s our favorite colors, and I figured you might like it, because why wouldn’t you, right? It’s okay if you don’t, though. It’s kind of girly. I just figured you wouldn’t care about that, because you don’t usually care about that stuff, and-”

In a second you’re in front of him, your hands at his cheeks, your lips pressed to his.

It’s a quick, chaste kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. He makes a small noise of surprise in the back of his throat, and you feel his sharp intake of breath against your lips. Your noses brush against each other, nearly as warm as his slightly chapped lips against yours.

It’s barely three seconds before you pull away and open your eyes to see him, wide-eyed and blushing, staring back at you.

“Um,” he squeaks, and you notice his hand on your wrist.

Immediately, you take a step back. “Sorry,” you mutter, pulling away from his grasp.

“No, Dave,” John begins, but you shake your head.

“It’s fine, dude. Don’t worry about it. Thank you for this,” you say, holding up the bracelet.

John’s brows are more furrowed than you’ve ever seen them- in fact, you think he may be defining the phrase “furrowed brow” better than anyone has before- and he’s frozen, but as you nod awkwardly and head toward the door, he squeaks again.

You turn, and he blushes harder. “I’m glad you like it,” he says quietly.

As you rush towards the bathroom, you slip the bracelet onto your wrist. Beneath it, you can almost feel his fingers against your skin, warm and tingling and real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUAHAHAHAHA


	18. We'll Figure it Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I can be contacted at hundred-separate-lines.tumblr.com (plus I post updates on there). I hope you enjoy! Sorry about the wait!

Your name is John Egbert, and man oh man are you confused!

It has been approximately twenty-four hours since your best friend kissed you. Dave, your best friend and the guy you’ve had a crush on for about four years, kissed you. Dave Strider _kissed_ you.

And while, okay, it was nice being all close to him and, yeah, his lips were nice and warm and soft and, yes, you kind of grabbed his wrist because you didn’t want him to leave, you are kind of having second thoughts.

Not about liking him, of course. You still totally like him. You hated how awkward you felt on the drive back to the airport this morning, and even though you’re sitting next to him right now and you probably won’t see him for another year or so, you’re just kind of suffering in this awful awkward silence. You can’t keep yourself from blushing every time he meets your eyes, and even though you want to tell him how much you care about him, you can’t stop freaking out.

Because, if you’re going to be totally honest, you don’t really want him to kiss you again.

Every time you think it, you die a little more on the inside. You’ve been pining after him since the beginning of time, and the one thing you wanted to do when you saw him this summer was finally build up the nerve to kiss the asshole, but now that you have, you can’t help but feel a little sick at the thought. That was your first kiss, and the only thing you can think about is how absolutely horrible it must have been for him. You bet your lips were dry and gross and your breath smelled bad when he pulled away and your hands were sweaty and oh, god, you need to _calm down._

Maybe it’s just not meant to be.

This morning, you woke up at five so that Dave would be at the airport by eight. You maneuvered around each other silently as you went through your morning routine- showers, breakfast, making sure everything was packed and ready- and as you drove to the airport. You and your dad decided to wait with him at the gate so that he wouldn’t feel awkward and alone, but that’s just left you all with more silence than you think you can stand and a sense of overwhelming futility.

Maybe this was only going to last a summer.

As Dave taps away at his phone next to you, you can’t help but feel like you’ve ruined something important. You wish you could think of something- _anything_ \- to say, but your mind is blank but for the occasional “sorry.” 

Stupid brain, being silent when you need to figure out what to do about this stupid annoying situation. Stupid Dave, for kissing you when you didn’t expect it. Stupid you, for buying him that stupid present and opening yourself up to the whole damn thing.

You kind of really want to grab Dave’s hand, but something tells you that’s a really bad idea.

A woman’s voice informs you that the gate has opened and begins instructing passengers on boarding. Dave stands and shoves his hands in his pockets. You checked his suitcase a while ago- all he has with him is his phone, his DS, and some money. You watch as he runs his hand through his hair and avoids meeting your gaze and wish you had something more to say to him- now, more than ever, you need to make this right.

You stand. “I’m gonna miss you,” you say, finding yourself unable to meet his eye.

He shrugs. “I’ll see you soon. We’ll figure it out.”

You nod silently, then quickly reach your arms around him to embrace him. Awkwardness or not, you try to remember the exact way it feels for him to hold you- the exact temperature of his arms, the exact scent of his sweatshirt- because, after all, there’s no way of knowing how long it’ll be before you see him again, and you can’t help but feel like you’re going to be completely alone without him.

The woman’s voice returns, more insistent now, and Dave steps away from your embrace. “See ya, Egbert,” he says, then turns and heads towards the line forming at the gate. His shockingly blonde hair and red shirt stand out from the line of dark suits like a lighthouse against a dark sea, beckoning you home.

You wave at him as he boards the plane, looking smaller than he ever has without a bag or another person. You watch as the plane takes off, as it gets smaller and smaller against the blue expanse of sky, carrying with it one of the most important people in your life, and your heart shrivels up a bit at the thought of Dave’s absence.

He’d call you a loser for thinking that, but it’s true.

You drift. Without Dave, you drift back through the airport and into your dad’s car. You drift home, caught in your own mind as it sifts and twirls and worries at this one little bit of information. You drift into your bedroom, collapsing on a bed that still smells a little bit like Dave.

The house is too quiet with him gone. Unnervingly quiet. Painfully quiet.

 _Relax,_ you tell yourself. _You’ve survived this long without him. You can do it again._

Still, the silence feels like a solid, tangible thing, slowly working its way through the room and into your eyes and nose and ears, making the world fuzzy and distant and lonely.

You had kind of forgotten loneliness.

The room grows brighter around you as the clouds recede and the rain halts. Without the clouds, the sun is oppressively bright, rubbing your sadness in your face and making you feel even lonelier.

Maybe it’s time you talked to someone.

You sit, grab your phone from your bedside table, and begin to type.


	19. I Was Just Thinking About You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will likely not be updating this much more in the future. I'm not really a part of the Homestuck fandom anymore. If I have time, I may try to wrap this up earlier than chapter 100. I have a couple more chapters written that I will post over the coming months.
> 
> That being said, I'd really like to thank everyone who's read this, especially those who have commented, bookmarked, and left kudos. I never expected anyone would read my shitty fanfic, especially my first one.
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart for making this a great experience. I would really encourage anyone who feels like writing a story and putting it on this website to do so- it's been awesome!
> 
> Thanks again, and enjoy the chapter!

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have just started your senior year of high school.

You’ve barely got any classes left to take, and despite your refusal to put much effort into school, you’ve done well enough to make the honor roll every year. You’ve even ended up in the top ten percent of your class, well enough to have garnered the attention of some fairly good schools.

Yet, as your guidance counselor has pointed out frustratedly, you haven’t even made an account for the Common Application or shown even the slightest interest in any of the schools that are so persistently pursuing you.

“I don’t understand why you refuse to apply even to a local community college,” Rose says one night, her voice soft and static-filled over the phone.

You don’t respond.

“Are you really so afraid of rejection?” she asks quietly.

“I’m not afraid of rejection,” you snap. 

“Ah,” she says. “Of course. I’d forgotten that the great Dave Strider isn’t afraid of anything. My apologies.”

So, to prove her wrong, you begin filling out the damn thing. 

Not that Rose made you do it or anything. No. This was your own decision. Obviously.

When you stare at the page where you’re meant to list all of your schools, however, you draw a bit of a blank. Maybe some research wouldn’t have been the end of the world- a visit to the local schools, or some website exploration, or something.

Without anything else to go on, you text John.

[TO JOHN]: so i got all these colleges on my hot strider ass and theyre all so convincing  
[TO JOHN]: i mean hows a poor guy to choose

You haven’t spoken to John much in the last month or so. Definitely not as often as you used to- for the past month, it’s been one or two texts a week. You haven’t even Skyped since you left.

You kind of hate yourself for that, if you’re gonna be honest. If you hadn’t moved too fast- if you hadn’t made him uncomfortable-

No. You can’t keep thinking about it. It’s done.

Everything in you regrets kissing him. You know he wasn’t ready for it. Everything about him screamed “not ready,” but you went ahead and kissed him, selfishly and stupidly and god, you hate yourself for it, but it’s not like you can fix it, not now, not anymore, and-

Your phone buzzes.

You grab it, quickly. Not desperately, though. Dave Strider is way too cool to be desperate about anything, especially a dumb text.

[FROM JOHN]: what do you want to do?

That’s a question.

You aren’t even really sure you want to do anything that college would help with. You like editing music and photography, and you used to love making comics, but you don’t think you could really turn any of those things into a living.

The other Dave made movies, you remember. Dirk’s Dave. You don’t really think you could do that, either.

[TO JOHN]: no idea  
[TO JOHN]: i guess music or photos or some shit but who cares honestly

You care, you think, but you aren’t exactly about to admit that.

His response is immediate. 

[FROM JOHN]: i know the university of washington has a photomedia major.  
[FROM JOHN]: i visited and it was a really nice campus!  
Oh. 

You hadn’t really thought about the fact that you could go to school with him. 

Of course John will want to stay close to home. He loves his dad, and you remember how devastated he was in the Game without him. He won’t want to leave home- at least, not right away.

You, on the other hand, don’t really have a reason to stay in Texas.

[TO JOHN]: i guess ill check it out then  
[TO JOHN]: thanks  
[FROM JOHN]: no problem dude!  
[FROM JOHN]: you know, it’s kinda funny…

You frown.

[TO JOHN]: whats kinda funny  
[FROM JOHN]: i was just thinking about you and how much fun we had this summer  
[FROM JOHN]: and how awesome it would be to see you every day!

You smile. At least this might mean you’re forgiven.

[TO JOHN]: well hey man if you like washington im there

A pause, longer this time. You wonder if maybe that was too much, if he hasn’t quite forgiven you yet, but in another minute your phone vibrates again and you sigh with relief at the message.

[FROM JOHN]: sounds like a plan!

As you smile, you hear the faint sound of your front door opening and slamming shut.

Shit, you think, flashstepping towards your computer and quickly closing all the college-related pages onscreen. You pull up one of your old SB&HJ comics and grab your tablet from under a pile of messy tee shirts. You gave up on the comic years ago- you were considering dropping it even before Sburb- but you’ve used it from time to time to get Bro off your case.

Your door slams open and Bro staggers in, his eyes lidded and bloodshot, reeking of sweat and alcohol.

“Fuck are you doing?” he yells.

You shrug. “Nothing, really. You having fun?”

He spits. “Fucking hate Bud Lite,” he mutters, staring at the ground.

“I thought you were working tonight.” 

“Fuck work,” he mutters, then staggers over to you. He bends over and the smell of alcohol intensifies, mixed with stale cigarettes and cheap whisky. “I got fuckin’ fired,” he whispers, and you recoil from the stench.

“Geez, dude. Take a shower or something, you smell like shit.”

“Aw, fuck you,” he yells, slamming a fist on your desk. You fight the urge to jump.

After a pause that feels like a lifetime, he turns and stumbles out into the hallway. You cross the room in half a second and lock your door.

Fired. Great. There goes any hope of good food for the next couple of weeks. 

With a sigh, you turn back to your computer and go back to work.


	20. I Noticed

Your name is John Egbert, and you really need to talk to somebody!

You aren’t entirely sure why you’ve been having such a hard time talking to Dave lately, other than the obvious kissing thing, which really shouldn’t still be bothering you. He even apologized! Why are you still so mixed up about it?

You know Rose probably has an answer, but if you’re gonna be honest, you don’t really think you can handle her right now. Especially not if you aren’t ready to hear the answer.

Jade, on the other hand, will definitely know what to do! And even if she doesn’t, she’ll listen. She’s the best ectosister a guy could ask for, after all.

You pull up the Pesterchum app on your phone and pray to all the horrorterrors that she’s awake.

EB: jade?

It takes about five minutes for her to respond, but you feel better the second you see her text and know you’ve done the right thing.

GG: hi john!  
GG: whats up? :)  


You take a deep breath.  


EB: well actually  
EB: i was hoping you could maybe give me some advice about some stuff.  
GG: totally!  
GG: just tell me what’s wrong :)  
EB: okay…

You explain the kiss and how you’ve been awkward with Dave ever since, and how you feel like you might have ruined everything, and that even though you’ve liked him for years, you aren’t sure how you feel about kissing him. Jade stays quiet while you tell the story, but as soon as you’ve finished, she responds.

GG: oh john :(  
GG: im sorry everything got all complicated!  
GG: youre sure you really like him?  
EB: yeah!  
EB: i’ve wanted him to kiss me for years and now that it actually happened i just felt so gross and bad and i don’t know what to do.  
GG: i dont know john…  
GG: did you ever think you might just not want to kiss anyone?

That makes you pause for a second. Of course you want to kiss people! Everyone likes kissing! Don’t they?

EB: what do you mean?  
GG: well…  
GG: when we were on the ship and i was dating davesprite…  
GG: i started to get really uncomfortable when he said anything romantic.  
GG: and then i realized i mostly just wanted to be friends with him!  
GG: but in a different way than i was friends with you guys  
GG: and after the game ended i started to wonder  
GG: so i looked some stuff up and apparently there are a lot of people who just dont feel that way about people!  
GG: its called being aromantic  
GG: and when i realized it was a thing, i felt a lot better about it!  
GG: it wasnt that i was weird  
GG: i just felt differently than other people do about relationships!

You think for a second. This doesn’t feel like how you feel- you do want to date Dave, and hold hands, and be around him all the time, and do all the normal boyfriend-y stuff.

So what’s going on?

EB: i don’t think that’s it…  
EB: but thank you anyway!  
GG: i hope you figure it out :)  
EB: i hope so too!  
GG: i have to go :/  
GG: bye john!  
EB: thank you so much!  
GG: no probert robert!  
GG: hehehe…

With that, Jade signs off, and you’re left alone again. Well, almost alone. A small mew from the corner of your bedroom pulls you back to reality. Meowgana stretches, then stands and meanders towards your bed.

You pull her onto your bed with a small sigh and pet her soft, dark fur. She tucks her head under your arm and purrs, her head vibrating against the soft part of your forearm. Somewhere outside, thunder rolls in.

Yawning, you pull up a new chat and begin to type.

EB: man, it really looks like it’s gonna storm!

You sit and wait for him to respond.

Nothing.

EB: the lightning is pretty wicked though…  
EB: wish you could see it!

Nada.

EB: are you there?

Finally, the typing icon pops up, but only for a moment.

TG: cant talk  
TG: sorry

You frown. It’s pretty rare that Dave “can’t talk.” In fact, it’s only happened once or twice while you’ve been friends, and only when he was in pretty huge trouble.

EB: dave?  
EB: are you okay?

You think of the first time he said he couldn’t talk- how, later, when he showed up in a Skype call with a black eye, he refused to tell you who had hit him or why. How sometimes there are cuts across his upper arms when you Skype him in the dead of night. How, in the Game, he told you he used to fight with his brother.

EB: dave, please answer me.  
EB: at least say you’re okay!

You bite your nails. Meowgana paws lightly at your leg, and you scratch behind her ears, wondering if Dave is okay. Wondering if you can help him at all.

It’s another five minutes before he responds.

TG: look i have to go ok  
EB: okay, sorry, geez!  
EB: i’m just worried about you!  
TG: i noticed  
TG: i think it would be better if you just left me alone for a little while  
TG: i have shit to do

You bite your lip, worrying at it with your teeth and clenching your phone in your left hand. He can’t mean that, can he?

EB: what do you mean?

You wait again, your heart pounding in your chest as you stare at your phone screen. What if Dave’s in trouble? What if he’s hurt? And what does he mean, “a little while”? What if he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore? Did you do something wrong? Aside from the kiss, you can’t think of anything, and things were starting to look up- at least, you thought they were.

So what’s wrong?

Suddenly, an alert pops onto the screen.

turntechGodhead [TG] has blocked ectoBiologist [EB]


	21. I Dreamed About You Last Night

Your name is Dave Strider, and your brother could not have chosen a worse time to do this.

You came home from school a month ago with a fee waiver for the SAT and a small review packet given to you by the guidance office. They recommended you take it in a month so that you’d be able to apply to a couple of schools and taught you how to apply for fee waivers for your applications. In fact, they were more helpful than they’ve ever been in your entire school career, and you were on top of the world when you walked in the door.

That is, until you saw Bro sprawled across the couch.

You knew sneaking past him would be pointless. He was too fast, and besides, he’d only know something was up. You prayed he wouldn’t see the packet you had been reading through on the way in.

He did.

The resulting fight was one of the worst you’ve ever had with him. He accused you of betraying him by wanting to leave. He told you point-blank he wouldn’t help you pay for tuition and that he would expect you to pay him back for every penny he’d ever spent on you.

That was when he threw the first punch.

Today, locked in your room, you can’t help but wonder when the bruises will die down.

It’s been a week since you spoke to anyone. Bro stole your phone the second he managed to get a hold on your bag, and after a quick message to John over your computer, he decided the solution was to throw your computer off the roof.

The computer that you purchased years ago with your own money is fucking gone.

You don’t have the money for a new one, either, which means staying after school to fill out your applications. You’ve been working almost non-stop and staying up for hours doing homework, trying to figure out a way to qualify for scholarships. Your best bet is your SAT score, so you’ve been studying for that too. Tomorrow, you’ll have to find a way to get there without your Bro finding out.

You still haven’t managed to locate your phone. You bet your friends are terrified. You wish you could at least message Rose and tell her what’s happening- she’d have you out of here in ten seconds flat.

Unfortunately, your school blocks Pesterchum, so without your phone, you’re fucked.

The question of how to get to your SAT tomorrow is mostly solved, as long as Bro doesn’t wake up before you. Even then, you can probably manage it. You’re as tall as he is now, and even though he’ll probably always be bigger, you’re strong and fast. You can do it if he’s still hungover.

That’s why you’ve been drinking with him for the past three hours.

Drinking with your Bro generally means you spend an evening nursing a gross beer and watching him slip into intoxication and eventually a coma. Or at least, he passes out after he starts on the vodka. It’s been three hours now, and he’s close to passing out on the floor in a pool of his own vomit.

You probably won’t let him choke on it. Probably.

“Dave,” he mutters, blinking lazily and gazing up at you.

You nod. “It’s okay man. Go to bed. I’ll clean up.”

He nods again and slumps against the couch, dead to the world.

You hesitate, watching him for signs of consciousness, then spring into action.

First is your phone. You snatch it out of the cupboard he uses when he wants to hide shit from you. You grab your SAT ticket out from under your mattress along with your school ID and then head to the closet, where you’ve been packing a suitcase for the last month, sorting through what you want to keep and what you can’t.

You’ve transferred all your money to a new bank and applied for a new job at a mall a couple miles away. There’s a homeless shelter around the corner. You had hoped you wouldn’t end up needing to use it. It looks like that’s gone out the window.

You stare at your room for a minute, at the place you’ve called home all your life, and bite back tears. 

You’ll be eighteen soon and everything will be easier. For now, you can work most of the day, finish out the school year, and pray you get a scholarship somewhere. 

As you creep out of the apartment, you unlock your phone and check your messages.

There are a _lot_ , mostly from John and Jade, although Rose has sent a couple of worried messages as well. They’re all pretty similar- asking where you are, what’s wrong, are you okay- so you decide to ignore them for the moment. At least, until you see John’s last message.

EB: i dreamed about you last night.

Oh, shit.

EB: you were dead.  
EB: please don’t be dead.

Jesus.

It takes only ten minutes to get to the nearest bus stop, and only twenty seconds to get settled in your seat. It takes almost half an hour to decide whether or not to respond.

Instead of John, you text Rose.

[TO ROSE]: so  
[TO ROSE]: good news  
[TO ROSE]: not dead  
[TO ROSE]: bad news  
[TO ROSE]: no longer living with bro  
[TO ROSE]: aka i have nowhere to go  
[TO ROSE]: you know i hate to ask this  
[TO ROSE]: but i need help

You close your phone faster than you ever have before. You don’t think you can face her response right now.

The bus takes you to the outskirts of town to a bus station. Once there, you notice it’ll be closed in half an hour. You take the opportunity to wash up and buy some food, then head out into the night.

As the stars blink in and out from behind the clouds, you drift quietly off to sleep.


	22. Stay Over

Your name is John Egbert, and you are getting really worried about your friend Dave!

It’s been almost a month since he left those worrying messages. Since then, you, Jade, and Rose have been trying to contact him frantically. You’re afraid he really hurt himself. After all, it sounded like he was having a really rough time in his senior year.  
You can’t help but wonder if it’s all your fault.

If you ruined your friendship, if you ruined this amazing thing you could have had, you might have hurt him worse than you thought. Every time you wonder where he is or what he’s doing (which is fairly often), your mind jumps to the horrible possibility that he never wants to talk to you again.

That’s not to mention the dreams, which happen almost every night. Dreams where he screams at you for betraying him. Dreams where he vows he’ll never talk to you again.

Those are the good ones.

In the bad ones, you spend weeks trying to get tickets down to see him, only to show up too late. Sometimes, the police are carting his body away. Sometimes, you walk in to find him half-rotted on his rug, a bottle of pills in his hand. Sometimes, the blood pouring from his wrists is still warm. Sometimes he’s still wriggling on a rope, his face turning bluish-purple, his feet kicking out from under him.

You’ve come to hate the color blue.

You still haven’t given up. You pester him every day, wondering when he’ll unblock you. The messages are pathetic, but you can’t help it. Every bit of you hurts every time you think of him, lonely and afraid, hundreds of miles away. It hurts to breathe. Sometimes, you catch your breath and your lungs ache as though it’s oxygen you’re missing, not your friend.

EB: hey dave!  
EB: if you ever read this  
EB: i just want you to know that i’m sorry if i hurt your feelings.  
EB: i really miss you.  
EB: i hope you’re okay.

You still feel adrift, like the whole world has started spinning at a different speed and you can’t quite get your feet. What with the whole horrible nightmare thing, you barely manage to get a couple hours of real sleep a night. You spend all your time studying in an attempt not to let your grades slip. You stop keeping up contact with Jade and Rose- it’s too much to keep hearing that no, he hasn’t responded, and yes, they’ll keep trying.

EB: we learned about how gravity works in physics today  
EB: and how the reason why feathers seem like they can float is because of the balance of the air resistance and gravity  
EB: and i couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how i flew in sburb?  
EB: if all the forces were different in some way and that’s how we could fly?  
EB: and we all flew in different ways, too.  
EB: i rode the wind  
EB: and you just rose like hot air  
EB: it was a pretty terrible game  
EB: but i miss flying.

You wake up sweaty and shaken. Food tastes boring. You spend your life scared for him. Every moment, you feel your heart pounding in your chest. It’s too loud. You move slower. Dad comments on it, so you tell him you haven’t been sleeping because of college applications.

He just smiles and tells you to get some sleep. He says he’s proud of you, but how can he be when you’ve failed in this, your most important mission?

Keep Dave safe.

EB: maybe you just don’t want to talk to me anymore.  
EB: i mean, that’s fine if you don’t!  
EB: i can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.  
EB: but i just wish you would tell me so i know you’re okay.  
EB: this sucks.  
EB: everything was so perfect this summer  
EB: and i ruined it.  
EB: i’m sorry.

Your application to Washington is completed and sent off. You apply to a couple other schools- some in California, one or two in Texas- and call it year. You put in just enough effort to keep your grades on the honor roll. Your dad says you deserve a break. Maybe you need one.

The messages from Rose and Jade pile up on your phone. You used to read them, but now you’re too scared. You don’t want to hear the bad news you’re sure is coming, whether it’s that Dave doesn’t want to talk to you anymore or- worse- that he can’t.

So, one Saturday morning, when you have seven missed calls from Rose and three from Jade, you finally decide to open PesterChum.

That’s when you see the most shocking thing yet.

TG: check your phone dumbass

You spring into action. Your phone, long-abandoned on your bedside table, is recovered. You sit in the middle of your bed and quickly navigate to one of several of Rose’s voicemails.

The voice that greets you is Dave’s.

“Hey, John. Look, I’m sorry about the radio silence. Bro- well, he kicked me out. Wasn’t happy about the whole college thing. It was bad for a bit, but don’t worry, okay? I’m with Rose in New York. I’m graduating a semester early. It’s all okay, promise. Look, just- just call me, all right? I’m worried about you. Rose and Jade said you haven’t been answering their shit either. I just need to know if you’re okay. I know that sounds hypocritical but- well, shit, I’ll explain it later. If you’re up to it, I was hoping you’d be willing to give me a call. If not I get it. Oh, and I asked Rose, and she said you can stay over this summer. So. There’s that, I guess.

“Shit. I have to go. Bye, John. I’m sorry.”

The silence after his message ends feels emptier than the void itself. 

But then.

Joy.

You smile.

“He’s okay.”


	23. It Can Wait Until Tomorrow

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are terrified.

It has been several hours since you left that voicemail. Since then, you’ve mainly been sitting in Rose’s guest room, curled under your blanket. Your phone is nestled between your hands, the text alert on. Every minute feels like it stretches past the views of time you used to have, twisting in on itself until it made its way into eternity on either side of you- left or right, past or present, behind or ahead.

Rose has been less quietly smug than usual. In fact, she’s been downright kind. It’s eerie, and you aren’t entirely sure where it’s coming from, but you’re skeptical it will last much longer. 

You only had to spend a night out in the middle of nowhere. By the next morning, Rose had arranged for a private plane to meet you on a small airstrip about an hour out of town. A car was sent; apologies were issued; you quickly found yourself strapped into a small aircraft that would not have shocked you if it had fallen to earth at any point during your flight.

Then again, flying has always made you a bit uneasy.

Not like John. John loves flying. He had never been on a plane before the Game, and you remember him zipping around like it was the greatest thing in the universe. He’d go as high as he could go without getting lightheaded and let himself fall for miles, only to pull out of it at the last second. You remember watching and feeling vaguely nauseous. 

You know he misses it now. You know because he left you a damn depressing series of messages while Rose tried to acquire a new phone for you that Bro wouldn’t be able to trace. That, in itself, was no short order. Bro is better with computers than anyone you’ve ever met, and you’re still not completely confident he won’t show up here out of the blue one day and ruin everything. 

New York is colder than you expected. It’s already March, but it still snows every other day. Every once in a while, the temperature will top forty degrees and the world will turn to mud. A couple of days later, it will freeze over, leaving the world slippery and dirty.

You miss Texas. You miss the heat, the dry air, the old apartment, the rush of a busy city. Rose’s place is pretty far out in the woods, and it’s rare that you see anyone other than Rose and, occasionally, her mother, who has insisted you call her “Mom.” You even miss school, as weird as it feels to admit it. Rose is gone most days, and you haven’t really got anyone to talk to.

When Rose lets you use her computer to talk to Jade, it’s only under the condition that you both pretend it’s Rose. You feel like you can’t say anything real on Rose’s account, anyway- you know she won’t read it on purpose, but even the idea that she could access whatever you say makes you too uneasy to ask Jade what to do.

Contacting John while on Rose’s account is far too personal. You don’t even try. Besides, as Rose has said a hundred times, he won’t return anything.

So, when Rose managed to get you a laptop, she encouraged you to send him a message. You did, but only on the condition that you could use Rose’s phone to call him.

And so you wait.

The duvet is too warm, but you like the heat. It reminds you of home. It reminds you of this summer, swimming with John. It reminds you of his body next to yours after a nightmare.

You try to remind yourself that this pattern of thought isn’t helpful. It doesn’t work.

You only hope John responds sometime in the next couple of hours, before waiting comes to be too much.

And what if he’s hurt himself? What if he doesn’t want to talk to you, after you left him for so long? What if he decides you’re more trouble than you’re worth, or that you’re a coward, or-

The phone rings.

You drop it in surprise, at first. It rings out again, vibrating against your bracelet. You sit up and throw the covers off, grasping at your phone and taking a deep breath of cool, fresh air.

Your hand shakes as you answer the call and bring the phone to your ear.

“John?”

There’s a horrible moment of silence, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Or, worse, something’s wrong with-

“Hey, Dave.”

His voice is quiet, but you nearly cry with relief when you hear it. It’s been too long since you heard that stupid, squeaky voice. For the first time in weeks, you feel safe.

“I’m so sorry.”

There’s another pause. You wonder if you should explain it better. Your chest aches for John, for Washington, for home, for simpler times. 

When John finally speaks again, his words are measured. “You worried me.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to. I just- I didn’t have any other way to speak to you.”

You cringe as John scoffs. “You couldn’t have called earlier? You couldn’t have told me what was happening before you disappeared for weeks? I thought you were dead, Dave!”

You flinch. “I’m so sorry, John,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

John sighs. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you. It wasn’t your fault your brother-”

He stops, and you know what he can’t say. “I’m okay, John,” you say quietly.

“Did he hurt you?”

The simple question gives you pause. You don’t want to say yes- if you do, you’ll never be able to see him again without John knowing. Bastard that he is, you don’t want to give up on your Bro just yet.

John must sense your discomfort. “It’s fine, Dave. It can wait until tomorrow.”

You nod. “I miss you.”

John says nothing.


End file.
